


Parkner Ficlets

by ironxprince



Series: Ficlets [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Harley Keener, Protective Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 21,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince
Summary: A collection of short, unrelated stories about the romance between Harley Keener and Peter Parker.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Series: Ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910518
Comments: 8
Kudos: 164





	1. Meeting the family

Harley was shaking as he stepped off the bus at the Avengers tower, eyeing the large _A_ that towered over him warily. Peter, having stepped off the bus just after Harley, tried to grab his hand and lead him forward, but Harley wouldn’t budge.

“This is a bad idea,” Harley mumbled. “A really, _really_ bad idea.”

Peter scoffed and finally succeeded in pulling Harley forward. “It’ll be fine. We’ll have dinner - you might be asked about school, I talk about Mr. Johnson’s history class a lot - and then maybe we’ll play a few board games. That’s all.”

Peter tried to smile reassuringly at Harley, but he wasn’t looking, his face growing paler as they stepped into the lobby of the tower.

“Cool,” he breathed. “Cool. I’m just about to play board games with Iron Man and Captain America. Yeah, _great_ idea.”

“You’ll be alright,” Peter tried to soothe as he smiled at the receptionist on their way to the private elevator. He pressed the button to go up, simultaneously scanning his fingerprint, and the doors opened, but Harley tugged him back.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

Peter smiled warily. “What?”

“Yeah. This is the only way- I should’ve seen this coming, asking out the son of _the_ Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. I can’t meet the _Avengers!_ I- crap. I’m going to have to see the Black Widow on holidays, aren’t I?”

“And she’s very protective of me,” Peter teased, stepping into the elevator and pulling a petrified Harley behind him.

Once in the elevator Peter pressed himself against Harley’s side, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. He felt Harley relax in his hold. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered, all jokes aside. “I only tell them good things about you - not that there are any _bad_ things. They’ll love you, Harls.”

Harley nodded shakily. “Yeah,” he said, as if to convince himself. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

The elevator doors opened, and things were not, in fact, fine.

Peter stepped out of the elevator, pulling Harley lightly behind him, adjusting his button-down self-consciously. Peter led Harley through the house, searching the rooms, until he found his parents, sitting at the dinner table. They stood as he approached.

Steve reached Harley first, holding out a hand for him to shake. Harley swallowed thickly before raising his chin and grabbing it, confident once more, the Harley Peter knew and loved.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve introduced with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Harley. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I, you,” Harley exchanged, and then froze. “I mean, not from Peter, just from, like, everywhere. Because… you’re _Captain America!_ And I’m… meeting Captain America.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, eyes solely on Steve, and Peter laughed uncomfortably, leaning forward and gently prying Harley’s hand away from his father’s.

“You good?” Peter asked him quietly, with slight amusement. Harley hesitated a moment before nodding.

“I- yeah.”

“Good. Because here’s Tony.”

Tony stepped forward then, and Harley froze - completely tensed up, eyes wide, skin pale, the whole deal.

Tony stopped a few steps away, smiling faintly, as Peter put a gentle hand between Harley’s shoulder blades.

“He’s just a man,” Peter muttered with slight amusement in Harley’s ear. Tony bit back a grin as Harley finally stepped forward and reached for his hand.

“Sorry,” Harley said, abashed, as he shook Tony’s hand. Tony smiled his signature debonair smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I get that a lot, but I’d rather you not think I’m _just a man_. I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but I’m pretty special.” Tony pulled away, leaving Harley to look after him, eyes wide and panicked.

“Why don’t you boys take a seat,” Steve suggested as he retrieved a couple of steaming plates from the stove and set them down in front of the four chairs, before taking a seat himself in front of Peter, leaving Harley to face Tony.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

Peter began eating, and Harley tried to follow suit, reaching hesitantly for his fork, when Tony spoke up.

“So, you’re the boy that’s won my kid’s heart.”

Harley sat up straighter. “Yes, Sir.”

“And how long have you been dating?”

“About a- a month.”

Tony hummed as he took his first bite of food, and Peter noticed him smirking around his fork. He fought to keep from rolling his eyes.

Steve swallowed his bite of food before speaking up. “And what class is it you two have together?”

“History.”

Steve smiled. “Well, I know a thing or two about that, if you ever need studying help.”

Harley grinned shakily. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Slowly growing comfortable, he once again reached for his fork.

“You boys are being safe, aren’t you?”

Harley choked on his food, and Peter’s eyes bulged out of his head as he glared at Tony, who continued eating, along with Steve, like nothing was wrong.

“ _Dad!_ ” Peter scolded, mortified, and Tony only held the guise for a moment longer as he tried to take a sip of water before snorting into his cup. Steve broke at the same time Tony did, guffawing as he dropped his fork onto his plate.

Peter looked on with wide eyes, reaching slowly for Harley’s hand under the table. Harley grabbed it and squeezed a tad too hard as Tony straightened, wiping away a tear.

“We’re just kidding, kid,” he chuckled. “Trying to get you to lighten up. Geez, we’re not gonna bite you.”

Harley smiled, uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah. I-I know that.”

“Do you?” Steve inquired with a smile. “Even when the good cop was asking the questions, you looked like you had seen a ghost.”

Harley laughed, looking down at his plate. “Yeah, fair point,” he muttered, cheeks growing red.

Steve just shook his head as he continued eating once more. Peter squeezed Harley’s hand reassuringly before returning to his own plate.

“Alright, let’s start over,” Tony said. “Hi there, I’m Tony.”

“And I’m Steve,” Steve introduced in an exaggerated voice. Peter smiled as he continued eating.

“Harley Keener,” Harley grinned. “It’s nice to meet you.”


	2. Peter returns home injured after patrol

Harley sat watching t.v., some kind of comedy show, as he nervously drummed his fingers on his thigh.

Spider-Man was out patrolling. Harley had gotten past his initial feeling of nervousness whenever Peter went out; he no longer spent every moment pacing their entire apartment, alternatively checking the news and his phone for any incoming texts. Now, he simply stayed awake, waiting for Peter’s return - more of a _welcome home_ gesture than anything, or so he tried to convince himself. He watched t.v., but absorbed none of it. Usually, he prepared some kind of post-patrol snack - actually, he should get on that. Peter should be home in about half an hour-

A _thump_ was heard from the bedroom.

Harley bolted to his feet, not even taking the time to turn off the t.v., and hurried across the hall. He sprinted across the threshold, heart racing, and came to a stop, breathing heavily.

Spider-Man stood, slouched against the open window, panting.

Harley breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped forward, sliding his fingers under Peter’s mask and gently beginning to ease it off. He tossed it aside, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair as he took in his dull eyes, the black eye and bruises that surrounded one, and the trail of blood that flowed from his nose, down over his lip.

Harley fought back a wince as Peter’s eyes met his own - or, _eye_. The other seemed to be stuck shut.

“What happened?” Harley whispered, gently brushing a thumb beneath Peter’s eye. Peter winced, but didn’t pull back - if anything, he appeared to lean into the touch.

Harley shifted his hold into a position that wouldn’t cause Peter pain while still providing him comfort, allowing his hands to drift from the back of Peter’s head, down his neck, and onto his shoulders, feeling the obvious tension - and maybe hoping to release some of it.

“Do you know what’s worse than one drunk domestic abuser?” Peter slurred, words barely comprehensive.

Harley sucked in a breath. “A group of ‘em.” Peter nodded once.

“I got the family out, though.”

“Thank heavens for that.” Peter nodded once, eyes drifting closed and head beginning to tilt forward. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you pass out, huh?” Harley soothed, and Peter’s head lolled forward - a nod, Harley guessed.

“Sorry there’s no food ready,” Harley said, trying to create light conversation as he guided Peter toward the bathroom.

Peter huffed. “Really, Keener? Do I have to do everything in this house?”

Harley laughed, and Peter cracked a bloody grin.

Harley helped Peter take a seat in the tub. “Why don’t you take off the suit, and I’ll go find you a change of clothes?”

Peter nodded and reached for the spider emblem in the centre of his suit as Harley found him some pajamas. When Harley returned he found Peter sitting in his boxers with his head tilted back, leaning against the tile.

The dim bathroom light flickered above them as Harley turned on the water and lathered soap onto a face cloth, beginning to wipe it gently down Peter’s face. Peter winced and emitted the occasional groan, but didn’t fight him.

Harley gently grabbed Peter’s chin as he moved the cloth along, wiping dirt and grime off while dirtying the tub. Peter’s eyes remained closed as his head drifted with Harley’s movements.

Once Harley had finished, he gently ran the hose down Peter’s body, scouting for bruises to apply ointment to later. He quickly finished that and set the hose aside, gently pulling Peter’s head forward to rest against his chest. Then, Harley began to apply shampoo to Peter’s hair, letting his hands run in soothing circles as the worked through knots and washed out grime.

Peter sighed pleasurably against Harley’s chest, and Harley began to hum a tune - _The Fall_ , he realized after - knowing that Peter liked to feel the vibrations mixing with his heartbeat.

By the time Harley finished Peter was practically collapsed against his chest, exhausted. He barely managed to dry Peter off and help him into his pajamas before guiding him to bed.

Harley lay down first, on his back, allowing Peter to curl up beside him with his head on Harley’s chest. Harley placed one arm around Peter’s back and the other over his head, simultaneously blocking the light while giving Peter a gentle massage.

Harley continued to hum, long after Peter had begun to gently snore, as he watched stars pass by his window outside, as the sun began to rise.

He was still humming when Peter woke up, when he smiled blearily up at Harley.

Harley leaned down and pressed a kiss to Peter’s curls. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Peter closed his eyes, nuzzling his head further against Harley’s chest. “Me, too.”


	3. Comfort

Peter looked up from his novel when he heard sobbing coming from his floor of the tower.

_Sobbing?_

He slowly closed his book, bookmark in place, and crept down the hallway, eager to find its source. Really, there were two options. It could be Tony, but Tony’s room was the other way, and he told Peter he would be down in the lab for the remainder of the night.

The only other option was Harley.

Peter hesitated in the hallway outside Harley’s room. His door was ajar, like he planned to close it but was in a rush - and Peter understood why.

Harley was collapsed in the middle of the floor, curled in on himself, lying on his side with his knees tucked to his chest.

Peter stepped into the room without a second thought, hurrying to Harley’s side and collapsing to his knees. 

Harley’s face was contorted, eyes squeezed shut and mouth twisted into an angry line. His cheeks were wet, _glistening_ , the light from the setting sun casting an eerie red glow onto the scene.

Peter placed a gentle hand on Harley’s trembling shoulder. “Harl-”

Harley was flinching away from Peter before he could get the word out.

Harley flew back against the far wall, staring at Peter with wide eyes as he took gasping breaths. Peter sat opposite him, brow furrowed and hand suspended in the air from where it had been previously resting on Harley’s shoulder.

Harley rubbed furiously at his eyes before giving Peter a smile so obviously fake it _hurt_ Peter to witness.

“Sorry, I, uh-” Harley sniffled, blinking quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

Peter remained frozen, horrified. “What happened?” he breathed, slowly inching his way across the floor until he was just in front of Harley, hands ghosting up to brush gently against Harley’s cheeks. Harley’s eyelids fluttered, his mask slipping for just a moment, before he placed his hands over Peter’s and gently brought them down.

“I’m fine, darling, don’t worry about me.” He lifted the palm of Peter’s hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there, eyes fluttering shut - and again, his walls trembled.

“You’re lying.”

Harley squeezed his eyes shut tight, releasing Peter’s hand and beginning to pull himself to his feet. “Really, I’m fine-”

Harley’s knees buckled and he would’ve collapsed, had Peter not caught him and gently guided him to the ground. They settled there, Harley tilting his head back until it hit the wall behind him, and his fortress shattered.

His lips trembled and his eyes squeezed shut, tears beginning to leak out. Peter shifted until he was at Harley’s side, guiding Harley’s head down to rest on his lap. He began to gently massage his fingers through Harley’s hair as Harley’s shoulders shook, as he tucked his knees up to his chin and squeezed his hands to his chest, as he sobbed and gasped and heaved.

When the sounds subsided, at least a bit, fifteen minutes later, Peter felt like a new ton of weight had settled on his shoulders. He tried to tilt Harley’s chin to better see him, but Harley refused, keeping his face hidden, like he was embarrassed for Peter to witness him like this.

Peter sighed, adjusting his hold to run circles around Harley’s upper back. “What happened?” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the one part of Harley’s face he could actually see - the corner of his eye, and the tears that flowed from it.

“My thoughts are too loud,” Harley said quietly, staring wide-eyed at the far wall. Peter continued to run his hands soothingly along any part of Harley’s body he could reach - up and down his arm, along his shoulders, weaving through his hair.

“Like what?”

“Like….” Harley took a shuddering breath. “Why did my dad leave? And why d- why did Tony leave, all those years ago? I know he had to go and save the world and he had no reason to stay, but…. Why did those kids bully me in school? What was so wrong with me falling in love, no matter who it was with? And-” Harley’s shoulders began to shake, breaths coming quicker. “And why is there all this awful shit happening in the world? Why can’t people just be _nice?_ Why do they always have to be _right?_ Why is there nothing good left? What’s the point of this world if there’s nothing good in it anymore?”

Harley collapsed into sobs, turning suddenly to bury his face against Peter’s stomach, clutching his arms tightly around Peter’s midsection, grasping desperately for purchase, for an _answer_. Peter wrapped his arms around Harley as best he could, blinking back his own set of tears at the sight of Harley looking so distraught.

“ _You’re_ good,” Peter tried to answer.

Harley shook his head. “Not enough.”

“Right, it’s not enough to save the world.” Harley sobbed harder, and Peter brushed his hair back from his face, trying to peer down at him. “But you don’t have to save the world,” Peter whispered. “You just have to do the best you can, and at the end of the day, that may not be enough. But you’ll save one person, and that person will save another, and that? _That’s_ what will save the world.” Harley tilted his head slightly, peering up at Peter with watery eyes.

“And when you need saving?” Peter smiled down at him, and he squeezed Harley a bit tighter. “You call me, and I’ll be there, darling.” Peter pressed a gentle kiss to Harley’s forehead, and was relieved to see a small smile growing across Harley’s face. “You have me. And I promise you, I’ll be there.”


	4. Dance AU

Peter grinned as he spotted a pair of brown eyes in the crowd, familiar even lined with eyeliner and other makeup as they were. **  
**

“Tennessee!” he called, and Harley looked up, a smile growing across his flushed face as he jogged over, the sound of his tap shoes overpowered by the dressing room chatter. He met Peter in the centre of the room, wrapping his large hands around Peter’s smaller waist and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Peter grinned when they pulled apart, lifting Harley’s sequined fedora from his head and placing it on his own.

“You were great out there,” he praised, smiling wide, as Harley tugged nervously on the suspenders of his costume.

“I dunno, I stumbled a bit on the pullbacks, and- who came up with the decision to make these suspenders yellow? That costume designer should get fired, seriously-”

Peter reached for said suspenders and tugged them forward, pressing his lips once more against Harley’s just to shut him up.

“Are you talking shit about my boyfriend?” Peter teased. Harley tipped his hat down, lower over his eyes.

“And what would you do if I was?”

Peter laughed at the mischievous look on Harley’s face, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, shut up. First of all, you look great in yellow. Second, I watched the whole thing from right backstage, and I loved it, and my opinion is the only one that matters. _But_ ,” he added, dragging out the word, “the audience _loved_ you. Did you hear them applauding, whistling, the whole deal? Like you were something special, or whatever. I wouldn’t know.”

Harley chuckled, looking down, then peeking up at Peter through his lashes. “Yeah. Thanks, Parker.” He sighed. “Man, you don’t know how much I want to ruffle your hair right now.”

“Oh, no.” Peter took a step back. “Do you know how long it took to get it all gelled down this morning?”

Harley took a threatening step forward, and Peter inched back. “Don’t you dare, Keener. Miss Romanoff’s going to be so mad at me if I show up on stage with hairs out of place-”

Harley lunged forward, and Peter screeched, turning and hightailing it around the busy dressing room, full of dancers stretching, warming up, applying makeup, or just talking in the corners. Peter dodged them all with ease, ears constantly focused on the sounds of Harley’s tap shoes getting louder behind him-

Peter was grabbed around the waist and flipped, being knocked backward. Harley caught him in a dip, grinning down at him. Peter smiled bashfully.

“Keener! Parker!” Peter’s head shot to the side at the same time Harley’s did. They met their studio’s acro teacher’s eyes from across the room. A small smile played at his lips but he shook his head, and Harley grinned, helping Peter back to his feet.

“Sorry, Mr. Barton!” Harley shouted, voice travelling with ease across the room. (Harley could be loud when he wanted to.)

“No, you’re not, Mr. Keener,” Mr. Barton sang back with a smirk. Harley shook his head, looking back down to Peter, taking in his white tank tucked into black tights, with his black ballet slippers to complete the look. Harley’s smile grew the more he looked, and Peter blushed, averting his gaze.

“I-I’d better go,” he stuttered. Harley pressed a final kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“You’ll do great out there,” he assured Peter, who had begun to nervously warm up his feet as it grew nearer for his turn to perform.

“Remember, after the solo I’ve got my contemporary trio, so I maybe won’t get to see you until awards.”

“Wow, my boyfriend’s so talented,” Harley breathed, and it removed the nervous twisting of Peter’s lips, replaced with a smile. “There he is. Don’t worry about me, darling. You go be amazing, and I’ll be watching.”

Peter took a deep breath, lifting his chin and setting his shoulders. “Hey, before I go, I have to tell you something. No matter how you performed, or what happens with the awards….” Peter stepped closer, brow furrowed.

“Are you from Tennessee?”

Harley threw his head back and laughed. When he straightened, Peter was watching him expectantly, hands intertwined behind his back, expression schooled. “Well? Are you?”

“Don’t do this, Parker.”

Peter stepped closer, looking up at his boyfriend. “Are you from Tennessee?”

Harley smiled down at him, cheeks growing red as he caved. “I am, in fact, from Tennessee. Why do you ask?”

Peter’s face split into a poorly-concealed grin. “Because you’re the only ten I see.”

Harley just shook his head, pressing a final kiss to Peter’s forehead, before pushing him in the direction of the stage.

“Go be awesome,” he called, and when Peter looked back at him he was no longer bashful Peter Parker - he was an award-winning dancer.

“Always am,” he called. Harley smiled, watching his retreating back. Only once he was gone did Harley leave to find his seat in the audience, preparing for the few minutes he had been looking forward to for the entirety of the season.


	5. ♪ Seasons by Greyson Chance

Peter sat behind the wheel of his car, driving down the highway. The roads were empty and the streetlights blurred, an afterthought behind him. It was two in the morning, maybe - he hadn’t checked the time for at least half an hour as he drove, signs declaring exits and cities passing as he continued on, paying them no mind.

He didn’t know where he was going. Well, he wasn’t going anywhere as much as he was leaving something behind - some _one_ behind.

Harley was all Peter could think about. Harley’s smile, Harley’s laugh, Harley’s gentle touch flittering across Peter’s jaw, stroking down his spine. Peter suppressed a shudder at the memories. It had been months since they broke up, since Peter last saw his face, felt his touch, but he remembered every second of it.

And he desperately wanted it back.

Harley had confessed about a loss of spark, about their relationship not being what it once was. They had different interests. Peter spent too much time as Spider-Man, and Harley refused to be an afterthought, refused to wait up into the wee hours of the morning, ready to patch him up. And so, he had ended it.

Peter thought over that conversation. He thought about it a lot, wondering for how long Harley had waited to say those words, for how long he had been faking contentedness. He wondered if there was anything he could’ve said to get a different result, or if the two of them were just never meant to be. If Peter had wasted a year of his life on false words, on memories that were made to shatter.

Peter turned on the radio without looking, twisting the dial to turn up the volume, and to drown out his thoughts. He rolled down the windows at the same time, letting the violent wind and the vibrations of the music calm him.

He should’ve been careful what he wished for.

It worked. Peter was no longer thinking, was no longer consumed with the thought of Harley, and so he could focus on the world around him - namely, the song playing over the radio.

It was the one Harley had sang for him, on Valentine’s Day.

Harley wasn’t a good singer, but Peter hadn’t minded. Harley had invited Peter out for a walk through the park. He situated them atop a bridge, took Peter’s hands in his, and sang. He never broke eye contact and he never released Peter’s hands for a second. By the end of it, Peter had tears in his eyes… just as he did now.

Peter swore, memories flying back, more violent than before. The earnestness in Harley’s eyes, the blush that grew on his cheeks when his voice cracked, the way he gently stroked his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand.

Peter took a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the headrest. He tried to breathe deeply, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel and _screamed_.

He pulled the car to the side of the road and slammed on the breaks. He refused to turn off the radio. As much as he wanted to forget, to free himself of the horrid memories, he couldn’t. That would be a betrayal to Harley, and to Peter himself. How could he forget something that had brought him so much joy?

How had it so easily become the source of all his pain?

Peter turned the volume up, as loud as it could go. He dropped his head down onto the steering wheel, and let the tears flow.


	6. ♪ Poison by Jet Black Alley Cat

Peter looked up suddenly, frowning at where Harley sat on the opposite side of the couch, his feet on Peter’s lap as he read a novel.

“Let’s go out.”

Harley blinked up at him. “Now?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded determinedly, lifting Harley’s legs as he stood. “Let’s go.”

“What? I- What’s going on, Parker?”

Peter left the room without a glance back. “I’ve got to get out of this apartment. I’m going to get ready.”

He returned a couple of minutes later, wearing a white turtleneck underneath a black suit jacket. Harley smiled up at him as he descended the stairs.

“Wow. Fancy.”

“Gotta dress the part, right?”

Harley shook his head, looking down to his plaid shirt, but not saying a word. He’d hate to ruin whatever vibe Peter had going on right now. “The part for what?” he asked as he pulled the front door open and let Peter step out in front of him.

“Clubbing.”

Harley laughed, but stopped short when Peter turned to look at him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Clubbing? Really?”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah.”

“That’s… very unlike you. You usually don’t like crowded places, loud noises, or lewd acts.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter grabbed Harley’s hand and pulled him forward. “I do tonight. I need to forget.”

Harley shook his head sadly, understanding what Peter was referring to. “This isn’t a good coping mechanism.”

“It’s one I haven’t tried yet. Might work. Can’t be consumed by your own thoughts if you can’t hear them, right?”

Harley sighed. “Technically, that’s true.” Peter said nothing as he dragged them into the cool night air and flagged down a taxi. Harley grabbed Peter’s shoulders and met his eyes as the taxi pulled up beside them.

“I won’t stop you if this is what you want to try, but you need a few ground rules, especially with this state of mind.” Peter blew out a puff of air, but nodded anyway. “One, you can’t leave my side this entire night. I’m going to keep my eye on you.” Peter gave a faint smile, and Harley knew he appreciated it. That rule was for Peter’s sake as much as for Harley’s own. “Two, I’m setting a drink limit. Absolutely no more than three.”

“But my metabolism-”

“Will barely allow you to be tipsy. That’s the point.”

Peter sighed. “Fine. Rule three?”

Harley pulled Peter into a tight hug. “You take care of yourself, okay? This isn’t a healthy way to cope and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, pulling away and reaching for the handle of the taxi door. “Just… I need it tonight.”

Harley held the door open for Peter with a faint smile. “I get it. I love you.”

Peter slid to the far side of the seat, and Harley sat beside him. “I love you, too.”

Harley pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead before turning to give directions to the driver.


	7. ♪ Lose It by SWMRS

Peter grinned as he pushed himself up from his seat and leaned out the car window, breeze pushing through his hair, mist from the crashing ocean below rising up to brush against his face. He pulled himself to sit on the door, putting one hand on the bike rack on the roof of their vehicle, and raising the other above his head. He closed his eyes, letting the resistance of the air push him back before he regained his balance.

A hand reached across the front seat to grab Peter by his shirt and tug him back into the vehicle. He fell onto his seat with a grin, hair disheveled by the wind. Harley laughed at the crazed look on his boyfriend’s face, shaking his head fondly.

“I won’t have you falling out of the car and down a cliff before we even reach the beach.”

Peter reattached his seat belt with a grin, leaning out the window with his back over the sill and his arms stretched out over his head.

“Journey’s part of the destination, sweetheart,” he called, voice stolen by the wind. Harley laughed, turning on the radio and cranking up the volume. _Summer_ by Calvin Harris. Lovely.

Harley began to tap his fingers of one hand on the steering wheel, using the other to reach into the bag of Sour Patch Kids they had sitting on the centre console. Peter sat upright quickly and slapped his hand away.

“You can’t eat them all,” he pouted, and Harley giggled, tossing the ones in his hand into his mouth with exaggerated slowness. Peter slapped his arm playfully, grabbing a few of his own candies before leaning back in his chair.

The song blaring from the speakers and the wind blowing in through the open car windows was exhilarating. Peter closed his eyes, stretching his arms back and behind the headrest as he turned his head to face out the window.

There was a hand on Peter’s chin, tilting it back in the other direction. “Hey,” Harley murmured. Peter blinked open his eyes. Harley was leaning over the centre console, eyes flickering from the road to Peter’s, their beautiful sky blue colour illuminated by the sun filtering through Peter’s window.

Peter leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was only half a second, really - it couldn’t be more than that, with Harley behind the wheel - but it felt like an eternally, and when Harley pulled away, Peter was left sighing as he watched his boyfriend regain control of the wheel.

Harley settled with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right on Peter’s thigh, and they remained like that for the rest of the journey, goofy grins and giggles notwithstanding.

–

Peter sniffled as he looked down at the photo he held in his hand. It was a polaroid, a cheap one that Harley had bought for Peter before their beach trip started, knowing how much Peter loved photography, antiques, and aesthetics. The quality was grainy and the colour brown and the focus wasn’t even centred, but Peter had tried, turning the camera to face them as they drove.

There was Peter grinning in the passenger seat, leaning across the car to rest his head on Harley’s shoulder, grinning with his eyes straight ahead as he drove. The bag of Sour Patch Kids had tipped over and was beginning to spill, but neither had noticed.

Peter looked at the photo for a few more moments, a dull throb beginning to grow in his chest at the memory it arose. He looked up at the whiteboard above his desk, the one lined with magnets. He _could_ put the photo up there - it _was_ a happy memory, no matter how the relationship ended, wasn’t it?

Peter’s hand began to tremble and he squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into fists as he brought them together and ripped the photo apart. He dropped the scraps into his wicker basket garbage can and swiftly left the room, not sparing a glance back.


	8. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Come on. Do you really have to ask me that?”

“You have to tell him.”

Peter frowned up at Tony. “I know.” He finished another question on his math worksheet.

“I mean it, Parker. He deserves to know, if you’re going to take this relationship any further.”

“I know,” Peter repeated, more frustrated now. “It’s just… what if he doesn’t accept me for it, you know? I’m trying to put it off for as long as possible and just enjoy what we have now.”

Tony reached across the table, placing his hand atop Peter’s. “I get it, kid, but I also know Harley. If he broke up with you over this, then a, you’d be glad you didn’t waste any more time on him, and b, I’d kick his ass to Long Island.” Tony’s expression softened. “But, like I said, I know Harley. He wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Okay.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “That’s fair. But you won’t know, either, until you confront him about it, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, finishing the last of his worksheet and beginning to clean up his things. “Well, I’ve got to meet him in an hour, so I should probably get ready.”

“I love you.”

Peter turned back and offered Tony a nervous smile. “Love you, too.”

–

Peter bounced on the balls of his feet as awaited Harley, on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. He nervously patted a hand over his gelled-back hair before smoothing down the front of his button-down. Their relationship was old enough that Peter felt it was time to share… _this_ , but relatively new in the way that he still wanted to dress up.

Harley, apparently, agreed - or maybe he was just a smart dresser.

He was wearing a deep red suit jacket atop a cream shirt with a golden chain, the colours perfect to bring out his shimmering blue eyes while still blending beautifully with his golden hair, swept messily to the side. Peter blushed as Harley closed the apartment door behind him, stepping down the stairs with a hand behind his back.

“So?” Harley asked, sweeping out his free arm. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Peter answered without hesitation, his blush deepening. Harley hopped down the last step to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek, and Peter leaned into it, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to blink back tears. This might be the last show of affection he ever got from Harley Keener.

Peter cleared his throat, attempting to clear it of any unwanted emotion. “Should we head out to the restaurant?”

“Slow your roll, Parker,” Harley answered with a grin. “I’ve got something for you first.”

He moved the hand out from behind his back, and Peter’s hand flew up to his mouth. In Harley’s hand was a red rose, all thorns cleared, in mid-bloom, the red petals seeming to shine in the evening light. Peter found tears springing to his eyes before he could stop them. He wasn’t deserving of this. Harley didn’t even _know._ If he knew, would he retract his gift, the blatant symbol of affection and admiration, and all the emotions it represented?

Peter shook his head, vision quickly becoming blurred, as he took a step back. He didn’t deserve this. Harley would definitely change his mind once he knew, once he learned the truth about Peter, about who he was - about _what_ he was-

Harley stepped forward, a blur through Peter’s tears but still a vision to behold. Peter hurried to step away from him, but Harley was faster, easing a hand behind his back and bringing the other up to slide the rose behind Peter’s ear before moving to cup his face.

He brushed his thumb over Peter’s cheek, swiping the tears away. The concern on his face was obvious, brow furrowed, mouth twisted into a thin line.

“Hey,” he soothed. “What is it?”

Peter shook his head and moved to step away, but Harley held fast, keeping Peter pressed against him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Peter shook his head again. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve it-” He moved to pull the flower from behind his ear, but Harley caught Peter’s hand in his own and pressed it to his lips, before holding it firmly to his chest.

“Hey,” he repeated, dropping his chin to better meet Peter’s eyes. “You can trust me, love, I promise.”

“You’re going to hate me.”

Harley laughed, and it was so sudden, albeit _authentic_ , that it caught Peter off guard, and for a moment, his tears stopped flowing. “Impossible. I could never.”

“You’d be surprised-”

“Why don’t you just _tell_ me instead of letting your self-deprecation assume what I’d say?”

Peter blushed, looking down in embarrassment and shuffling his feet. “I don’t want it to ruin a good night.”

“It won’t be a good night, not if I know you’re struggling.”

Peter bit down on his bottom lip, eyes trained on the floor. “I just- we’re getting closer, and I… I didn’t have to tell you before, right? Because things were _comfortable_ , and they were simple, and easy, but now they might not be, and I just… I have to say it.” Peter raised his eyes, peering up at Harley through his lashes. Harley waited, silent and supportive. His hands were still around Peter, not having let go for a second.

Peter sucked in a breath. “I’m asexual.” In the same second he pulled out of Harley’s grasp, and Harley was so shocked, he let him go, flower held in his limp hand. “So that’s- that’s it. I’m sorry I let this go on for so long. I should’ve told you sooner, but now you can, um, find someone else and get on with your life-”

“Why didn’t you?”

Peter sucked in a breath, cheeks red. “What?”

“Tell me sooner.”

Peter’s voice was soft. “Come on. Do you really have to ask me that?”

Harley moved to step forward, but Peter inched back, and so he stopped. “Darling, you didn’t really think I’d leave you over this.” Peter’s mouth fell open, searching for the right words. None came.

Harley stepped forward, suddenly angry, not caring how Peter reacted. “Parker.”

“Well, you can’t blame me!” he shouted. “We’re 19! It’s about time we think about… _that_ , and, I don’t know, if I can’t help you with those… those needs, then what use am I?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Peter flinched back at Harley’s harsh tone, and Harley took a slow breath, sure to speak quieter - but not with any less solemnity. “You don’t need to have a _use_ , Peter. You can just be _you_ , and that’s more than enough for me.”

“You don’t understand,” Peter sobbed, stepping forward to stare up at Harley through his tears. “I don’t want sex,” he spat out. “I’ll never want it. And you’ll never be able to coerce me into it, and I’ll never be able to do that for you-”

Harley leaned down suddenly, pressing his lips to Peter’s with such intensity that Peter would’ve fallen back had it not been for Harley’s arm catching him around the shoulders. He remained there for a moment before pulling away slowly. Peter looked up at him, shocked and red-eyed, but with no fresh tears.

“Does that quell your fears?”

Peter searched Harley’s eyes, as if looking for the tiniest flicker of doubt.

He wouldn’t find any.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, as if speaking too loud would shatter the small amount of delicate hope he had gathered.

“Are you invalidating my feelings, Parker?”

Peter fixed his mouth into a thin line. Not in the joking mood, then. “I need you to be sure.”

“Why are you so determined to turn me away?”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“You’re deserving of love, Peter, no matter what you feel or don’t feel. You’re deserving of someone who will love you for every part of you, the parts that are there, and the ones that aren’t.” He lifted the rose once more, holding it out in front of Peter with a small smile. “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to be that someone.”

Peter let out a shuddering breath, new tears falling - but this time, accompanied by a grateful smile. “I think I… I love you.”

Harley smirked, shaking the rose in his hand. Peter reached out, taking it gingerly and twirling it between his fingers. “Oh, you think so, do you?” Peter’s eyes flickered back up to Harley’s, and he gave a lopsided grin. “Well, good, because I think I love you, too. Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation.”


	9. “Stay, please.”

Peter hurried through the hallways, head down and arm held securely around his textbooks. His mind was a storm of racing thoughts today, his body feeling too physically weak to keep up - and, on top of that, he had a new history project assigned, and his math test _really_ hadn’t gone well.

Generally speaking, it was not a good day.

He just needed to get through his last class of the day, science, and then he could go home, curl up on his bed, and do absolutely _nothing_ for 17 hours until he had to start it all again the next morning.

A shoulder bumped against his but he kept walking, not even mustering the strength to turn and apologize. No one else apologized, in these halls, and he was sure no one would care if Peter Parker stopped apologizing for things that weren’t even his fault-

“Peter?”

Harley. Of course. The one person that would _actually_ care.

Peter forced his feet to come to a stop, keeping his head down and letting his boyfriend catch up with him. “Hey, you okay?”

Peter forced a weak smile. “Just peachy.”

Harley frowned. “You sure? You don’t look so great-”

“I said I’m fine, Keener. Drop it.”

Harley set his shoulders and raised his chin slightly. “I’m not letting you leave this spot until you tell me what’s wrong,” he said with a suppressed grin. Peter glared at him, but he didn’t move. Peter tried to step around Harley, only for Harley to block his path. The students around them glared to see who was blocking the hallway, but Harley didn’t seem to care. Finally he sighed, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and dragging him into a nearby stairwell, one that was beginning to clear out as the transition period came to an end.

Peter pulled out of his grasp, pacing to the far wall.

“Alright, what is it?” Harley asked, more serious now with his arms crossed.

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Peter turned and found Harley watching him with a sad smile. “Look, I’m not letting you leave until you tell me.”

“I’m going to be late for science-”

“Does it look like I care?”

“You shouldn’t,” Peter bit back, stalking forward. Harley met him in the middle, expression tame and voice calm despite everything Peter was throwing at him.

“Well, I do, because you’re my boyfriend. I care about you, and I want to make sure you’re okay.” He reached forward for Peter’s hand, and Peter pulled it back sharply.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Harley froze, words sitting heavy between them. The bell to begin final period rang, and Harley took a deep breath, nodding once.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “You didn’t.” He took a careful step back. “I should head to English.”

“Harley-”

Harley held up a hand, offering a small, sad smile. “Don’t worry about it. Mr. Wang already hates me enough, anyway. I shouldn’t give him another reason to. Just, text me later, okay?”

He reached for the door that exited the stairwell.

“Stay,” Peter blurted, before he could stop himself. Harley turned slowly back around, and Peter curled in on himself, retracting his hands up into his hoodie sleeves as he shrugged his shoulders forward. “Please?”

Harley took his hand from the door, but made no move to come forward.

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I’m not mad at you, really, and I appreciate you… trying to make this better.” Harley took a couple of steps forward. “I just thought I could handle it on my own, but apparently I can’t, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

Harley came to a stop in front of Peter, placing a hand on his bicep.

“You know that’s my job, right?” he reassured softly. “I’m here to support you when you’re happy, and when you’re not doing so well. I’m not just here for the good stuff, darling. I’m here for you, for _all_ of you, and you can tell me anything, you know that?”

Peter nodded slowly, leaning forward and letting his head rest against Harley’s chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, shoulders quivering with heavy breaths. Harley placed his hands around Peter’s back, rubbing slow circles into it.

“So what’s got my little bird stuck in a cage?”

Peter chuckled lightly at the metaphor. “Just… my mind.”

Harley hummed thoughtfully. “By now we’re a couple minutes late for class.” Peter groaned against his chest. “Even the stragglers have beaten us by now, so if we go, we’ll be called out in front of everyone.”

“You know, this isn’t helping.”

“So let’s just skip.”

Peter blinked up at Harley, slowly straightening. “What?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s just last period, and I don’t want you having to struggle through it. Let’s just leave, now. We’ll go to a park or something.”

The corners of Peter’s mouth began to turn upright. “I’ve… never skipped class before.”

Harley wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and began to lead him down the stairwell and out the door, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”


	10. “I adore you, can’t you tell?”

Peter found Harley sitting on the couch in the living room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Harley barely looked up as he approached, glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eyes before returning to the carpet between his feet.

Peter settled beside Harley on the couch, leaning back with a sigh and draping his arms over the cushions.

“You’re going to break up with me, aren’t you?” Harley murmured, and Peter stiffened, brow furrowing.

“I- _what?_ ”

Harley straightened, giving Peter a small, apologetic smile. “You don’t really, um, text me anymore. You used to send me these good morning texts…. And you hang out with Ned a lot now. More than you do with me, and, I mean, that’s fine. Like, I’m not jealous or- or telling you to stop being friends with him or anything, but… if you spend more time with a friend than you do with a boyfriend, that’s not the friend’s fault. It’s the boyfriend’s for not being good enough.”

Peter said nothing, horrified, eyes growing wide and mouth falling open. Harley watched him for a moment before turning back to face the room. “Yeah. It’s okay, you don’t actually have to say it. I’ll just… I guess I’ll go.”

He stood from the couch and Peter reached out, desperately grabbing onto Harley’s arm just above the elbow and holding him there. Harley refused to look at him, pinching his lips together as he stared up at the ceiling and blinked back tears.

“Wait. Freeze. What- the _hell_ are you saying right now?”

Harley smiled softly down to Peter, and, to Peter’s horror, he realized Harley was _crying_.

“I see the signs,” he whispered. “You deserve the best, and clearly I’m not it, so we don’t have to have that whole, dragged-out and awkward breakup. I’ll save you from that _it’s not you, it’s me_ line that no one really believes, yeah?” He chuckled and turned to leave again, but Peter tightened his grip, pulling Harley back down to the couch - and they were _very_ close, Harley practically sitting on Peter’s thigh as they pressed shoulder to shoulder. They stared at each other, barely a breath apart, Harley’s eyes on the verge of tears, a small fire burning behind Peter’s.

“Honey, you’re joking,” Peter said quietly. Harley sniffled, averting his gaze. Peter reached out and gently lifted his chin. “Hey. Harley, I adore you, can’t you tell?”

Peter reached a thumb to brush across Harley’s cheeks, and Harley let his eyes flutter closed, leaning into the touch.

“Why did you stop texting?” Harley whispered, cheeks beginning to grow red with embarrassment.

“I thought we were becoming stable. I didn’t want to keep bothering you, and same for why we hang out less. I didn’t think you still needed reassurance.”

“I’m always going to need it, constantly,” Harley breathed with mirth. Peter smiled, cupping Harley’s face in his hands.

“Then I’ll give it to you, in a heartbeat.”

Harley reached up to grab Peter’s hands in his own. “You promise? We’re- we’re actually still okay?”

“We never stopped. I really do like you, Harls.”

Harley turned to rest his head on Peter’s shoulder as his shoulders heaved with heavy breaths. “I was terrified,” he whispered. “I’m never going to find anyone as good as you.”

Peter pressed a kiss to the top of Harley’s head. “You’ll never have to.”


	11. “I don’t really know what to do next.“

Peter’s not going to lie - he knows Harley’s favourite colour is yellow. His two best friends are in math with him, but neither of them have phys ed in the same period as Harley does. His favourite pencil is the blue one that’s barely a stub and covered with teeth marks, despite the fact that he has a brand new orange one sitting in his pencil case. (Peter got to use it once. He wonders if he’d be able to steal it permanently without Harley noticing.) And between all of that, Peter has no idea what he’s been learning in history class all month. How could he, when Harley’s caramel curls are just a seat in front of him?

Peter _has_ to say something, to ask him out. Harley’s a catch, really - if Peter doesn’t take action, someone else will, and that will be _devastating_. Peter just… doesn’t know when to do it. Lunch? Band practice? Meet him at his locker (1103), or find him after school? What will the response be? Will this be a mistake, or the best move of Peter’s short, short life-

“Hey.” A finger taps Peter’s desk and he jolts out of his thoughts, surprised to be met by startling blue eyes and a crooked grin. Harley’s turned around in his chair, facing Peter- _looking at Peter_. Oh, crap.

“I was going to ask if you knew the answer to number three, but….” Harley’s eyes trail down to the worksheet on Peter’s desk, the one that every classmate has, but Peter’s is blank. He’s gotten no work done.

Peter scrambles to pick up the paper, hoping to hide his blush behind it as he scans the page. Even then, he has to read the question a couple of times over before actually understanding it.

_When did the war end?_

“Oh, um-” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “1918.”

Harley gnaws on his lower lip, and Peter’s lost. _Shit_ , that’s attractive. “You- you know we’ve moved on to World War II, right-”

“I like you.”

Harley freezes, mouth falling open. Peter’s cheeks grow red, and his mind is simultaneously blank and full of thoughts at the same time. “I mean, I just- just wanted to say that. You don’t need to respond, or anything, or we can just pretend I never said it- yeah, actually, let’s do that-”

Harley places his hand atop Peter’s and Peter practically jumps out of his skin. He shoves away from his desk, and the sound of his chair legs on the floor has his classmates turning to stare at him. His face is beet read as he’s met by their judgmental eyes, the room suddenly silent.

“Peter?” their teacher asks, her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

Peter sees Harley from the corner of his eye, barely stifling a laugh. The blush on his face darkens by about 250 shades as he sinks back down into his seat.

“All good, Ms. Lee. Sorry.”

Peter settles back in his desk, burying his face in his hands. Mistake, _definite_ mistake. And now Harley’s watching him, he can sense it - the nosiest of his classmates are, too, and he’s done it. He’s completely screwed everything up.

But maybe… this is all a dream? A nightmare. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

“I don’t really know what to do next,” Harley says, his voice light and… and _amused_.

Not a nightmare, then.

Crap.

Peter slowly lifts his head from his arms. “I- sorry, we can just forget I ever said anything. The answer to number three, it’s 1944. Or, ‘45-”

“I _meant_ , do I take you out to dinner, or is a movie more appropriate? I really have no idea.”

Peter freezes. _Error 404: thoughts not found_. He’s looking at you, idiot. Reboot, dammit, _reboot_ -

“I don’t, uh-” Peter’s mouth opens and closes, looking for something to say. For the life of him, he can’t find anything.

Okay, so this isn’t a nightmare. It’s _definitely_ a dream, then, and the best one of his life, apparently.

“Movie,” he finally answers in a whisper. Harley grins, and- damn, Peter wants to get lost in it.

“Seven?” Peter nods wordlessly, and Harley holds out his hand. Trembling, Peter reaches out his own, and Harley grabs it, flipping it to expose Peter’s forearm. He begins to scrawl out his number, and Peter doesn’t know what to look at - his chicken scratch handwriting, the way his tongue is slightly poking out from between his lips, or the fact that _Harley Keener is touching me. He’s holding my hand - well, in a way. We’re- contact. Skin to skin. What what what-_

“Text me?” he asks with a gleaming grin, and Peter sucks in a breath, nodding. “Great. And you said, what, 1945?” Again, Peter nods, and Harley smiles. “I’ll see you at seven, Parker.” And with that, he turns in his chair, leaving Peter to stare, wide-eyed, at his back.

Uh…

_what?_


	12. “You were really worried about me, huh?”

Date a superhero, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Well, clearly, the superhero they had in mind _wasn’t_ Spider-Man.

Peter goes on patrols every night, and that’s all well and good. Harley trusts Peter to take care of himself, and Tony trusts him to call if anything goes wrong. Between that, Harley was under the impression that Peter’s safe - Peter even took him out one night, sat them atop of the Empire State Building and left Harley there at the sudden appearance of a bank robber. It’s a good thing Harley’s not afraid of heights; the night went on the _good date_ list.

But now, at two a.m., Harley’s watching the television as a shootout begins to unfold.

There are three criminals, all with guns, and twelve cops, and in the middle of it all, a figure clad in red.

Peter’s arms are held up, between the two sides, urging them not to shoot. He’s looking at the criminals, trying to reason with them, Harley assumes. The footage is being taken from above - a helicopter. Harley can see it in the distance from the bedroom window. He wants to go, to be there, to help Peter, but he suspects he wouldn’t be allowed near. Here, at least he can clearly see the situation unfolding.

Maybe that’s not a good thing.

Peter takes a step toward the line of criminals, but one of them hefts their gun higher, and Peter freezes. Harley sucks in a breath, schoolbooks forgotten on the couch cushion beside him. Peter’s talking again, he guesses, and maybe, _maybe_ that’s a good thing. Maybe Peter’s big mouth will get him _out_ of danger this time-

The criminal’s shoulders tense - Harley watches it happen - and he lifts his gun.

Harley hears a shot fire.

It echoes through the city and he stumbles to his bedroom window - though, what he’s looking for, he’s not sure. He hurries back to the t.v., but the news anchor is speaking - they’ve ceased to show the footage. It’s inappropriate, they’ve deemed, but they’ll continue to give updates.

Updates aren’t enough.

Harley’s already hurrying from the apartment, not bothering to turn off the t.v. and grabbing the closest pair of shoes he can find as he races out the door and sprints down the stairs. He needs to see that Peter’s okay; he needs to see it with his own eyes. He needs to be there with Peter, to hold them, and if- if this is their last time-

 _Shut up_ , he growls at his mind as he hops down the last couple of steps and pushes out the door.

The nighttime air sends a chill through his bones that remains, settling over his bare arms, as he sprints across the street, trying to find his way to- where did the news anchor say it was?

Harley spots the helicopter in the sky. _Of course_.

He hears another gunshot.

He runs faster.

The closer he gets to the scene, the more crowded the streets become. Reporters and cameramen, spectators, tourists. Harley shoves his way to the front. Peter has to be okay, he _has_ to be-

A hand catches him around the arm and spins him around. Harley fights it, eyes wide. He needs to keep going. He needs to get to-

Peter stands in front of him, back in civilian clothing, hair damp with sweat and pupils blown wide. He takes slow breaths as he watches Harley, the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch up in the barest of smiles.

Harley shoves himself against Peter’s chest, grabbing at Peter’s back with desperate, clutching fingers. Peter lifts his hands to encompass Harley, resting his chin on Harley’s shoulder and just breathing in his scent.

“You were really worried about me, huh?” Peter says with slight levity. Harley just shakes his head.

“You never to that again,” he sobs. “I- I had to watch- I heard a shot-”

“Hey.” Peter pulls back slightly, holding Harley’s face in his hands. “Look.” He gently spins Harley by the shoulders and points in the direction the growing crowd is facing. Harley sees police, flashing lights that hurt his eyes, and noises that are just- they’re too loud. In the centre of it all are three piles of webs, shaking and squirming.

“I got ‘em,” Peter whispers in Harley’s ear. “I always get ‘em. I’m safe. It’s okay.”

Harley turns, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to _think_. He just wants to go home, and hold his boyfriend in his arms, and enjoy the fact that he _can_ for another day.

Peter runs his hand in circles on Harley’s upper back. “I’m not going anywhere, Harls,” he whispers. “I promise, you’re stuck with me.” Harley just nuzzles closer against his neck. “Let’s go home, alright?”

Harley barely manages to nod, and he lets Peter turn him around and guide him through the bustling crowd.


	13. “Please don’t lie.”

Harley was actually having a pretty good day.

His math test had gone well, he managed to make it through Ms. McGregor’s class _without_ getting detention, and Terry, the school cook, had given him a free cookie. But now, all he wanted to do was grab Peter and walk home together.

They didn’t have any classes together this semester, and it was really taking a toll on Harley - going from seeing his boyfriend every minute of every day to not at all, well, it was tough.

The school bell rang, signifying the end of the school day, and Harley hurried from his class. He brushed past groups of students, conversing and laughing. He paid them no mind; he needed to hurry up and get to Peter’s locker, wait for him there like they had done every day, and there it was, at the end of the hallway-

Harley stopped in his tracks.

There was Peter at his locker; Harley identified his mess of curls with ease. A girl was approaching him, taller than he was and with bushy hair. As Harley watched, she touched a hand to Peter’s shoulders, leaned down-

and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Harley physically recoiled as if he’d been slapped. A shoulder bumped into his and he stumbled, suddenly off balance. His head was spinning and black spots danced in his vision.

He forced his eyes up to the opposite end of the hallway - and there he was, Peter Parker, looking back at him. He had a hand on the girl’s chest as his wide eyes found Harley’s between the bustling bodies. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but they were too far away. There was too much between them.

Harley’s hands clenched into fists and he turned, pushing out of the school doors.

Students moved around him; the sounds of friendly chatter filled the air. It was exceptionally loud today without Peter on Harley’s arm, talking his ear off with his own chatter.

Harley hurried away from them, away from the school. He had to get home. He had to calm down. There might’ve been an explanation for what he saw - Peter wouldn’t cheat on him, right? But he couldn’t discuss it now. His head might explode if he did. He just needed a night to calm down.

He stormed away from the school, pace quickening when he heard his name being called in Peter’s voice - but if Harley saw Peter now, he might get angry - or worse, break down into tears. He felt them burning the back of his eyes now. _Crap_. Harley Keener didn’t cry over boys. This was _stupid_.

“Harley! Hey.” Peter jogged in front of Harley, putting his hands on Harley’s chest - just like he had been touching the girl a moment ago. Harley shoved Peter’s hands away as he kept his gaze focused over Peter’s head.

“Wha-”

“Who is she?” Harley asked, tone sharp. He had yet to make eye contact.

“She-” Peter’s eyes widen. “MJ. You saw that?”

“Who is she?” Harley repeated, words beginning to slow, throat feeling like it was closing up.

“She’s a friend, it- she’s just a friend.”

“Please.” Harley brought his eyes down to Peter’s, and to his horror, he found his vision blurred with tears. “Don’t lie to me,” he whispered.

“Harls, you know I would never-” Peter reached a hand to brush against Harley’s cheek, but he stepped back, and Peter let his hand fall. “She was trying to make a move. I- it took me by surprise. I didn’t see it coming, I swear. I would’ve stopped it.”

Harley’s gaze switched between Peter’s eyes, looking for the truth - but he couldn’t find it. He didn’t even know what to look for.

“Am I not enough for you, Parker? Is that it? Because if it is-”

“Don’t you ever say that,” Peter demanded, shaking his head. “How could you- Harley, you’re more than enough for me. I don’t deserve you! _That’s_ how good you are! And that’s what I was telling MJ. I told her I had a boyfriend, I told her I had no feelings for her….” Peter reached out and grabbed Harley’s hand, and Harley was too shocked to oppose. “I told her just how much I… care for you. And how much I would hate to lose you.”

Harley gnawed on his lower lip. “You’re too good, Peter. I don’t think there’s a single person in this school who isn’t pining after you-”

“Well, maybe Flash.” Harley leveled Peter with a glare. “Sorry.”

“I’m just wondering… I’m waiting for….”

“You’re waiting for me to leave you,” Peter finishes quietly. “To find someone better.”

Harley’s heart seemed to sink in his chest and he nodded wordlessly.

“There’s no one better for me than you, Harley Keener.”

Harley frowned. “This is high school. I can’t expect you to stay with me constantly-”

“And what if I want to? I don’t know how to convince you of this, but you’re enough for me. You’re more than enough. You’re all I need.”

“Are you sure?”

Peter grinned. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”


	14. “Make me.”

When Harley arrives home at midnight after a late shift, he doesn’t expect the noise coming from the kitchen, and he _especially_ doesn’t expect his boyfriend to still be awake when he goes to investigate - but there Peter is, hunched over the kitchen table, a hand knotted in his hair and the other scrawling across a piece of paper.

“What are you still doing up?” Harley asks, switching on the light. Peter hisses, literally _hisses_ , eyes squeezing shut.

“Homework.”

“What- how are you still doing homework? You’ve been working since before I left and now it’s midnight.”

“Yeah, well, I have an essay due tomorrow and I didn’t start working on it until-” He blinks up at Harley. “What time is it?”

Harley raises a brow. “Midnight,” he repeats. When Peter stares at him blankly, he sighs. “Twelve o'clock. _Midnight_ , Parker.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t start writing this essay until _mid evening, Keener_ ,” he mocks. When Harley frowns at him, Peter sighs. “Nine o'clock.” He turns back to his essay, but Harley steals the paper away from him before he can. Peter tries to fight back, but all Harley has to do is brush a hand through his hair. Peter’s eyes are fluttering closed and he leans into it, his task already forgotten. Honestly, it’s kind of cute.

“You’re exhausted, Parker.”

“’M not.”

“You’re practically purring.” Peter forces an eye open to glare at Harley. “Come on. You need to go to bed.”

“Make me.”

Harley sighs. “You know what’s going to happen next.”

Peter sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I think you’re bluffing.”

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I dare you.”

Harley shakes his head fondly, stepping forward with his arms outstretched. Peter tries to slap him away but he’s too weak, and Harley loops his arms beneath Peter, hefting him up in a bridal carry. Peter slaps at Harley’s chest, though his eyes are falling shut.

“No, put me down. I have- have an essay-”

“I’ll call your school tomorrow and pretend to be your guardian.”

“You’re only a year older than me.”

Harley reaches Peter’s bedroom and sets him down, pulling the covers up to his chin before pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “And don’t you forget it. _”_


	15. Hidden identity

Peter pulls the front door closed behind him, smiling as he steps out onto the doorstep. He glides to Harley’s side who stands a few feet away, putting his arm over his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“So?” Harley asks as they depart from the house.

Peter sighs pleasantly as they reach the end of the driveway, hovering just beside his car. “She’s a lovely woman, really. Well, I wouldn’t expect anything else from the great Mrs. Keener.”

“She loves you, too.”

“You really think so?” Peter brushes a hand through his hair, unsure.

“Oh, positive. You think she gives her super special brownie recipe to just anyone who visits?”

Peter grips the paper tighter in his hand. “I’m really glad. Honestly, I’ve been nervous about this visit for a while.”

“Well, it’s over now, and you did great.” Harley runs a hand up and down Peter’s arm as he leans in for a quick kiss. “So,” he murmurs against Peter’s lips, “when do I get to meet your parents?”

Peter’s mouth opens before pressing closed, and he steps back, averting his gaze. “I don’t, um, think that would be the best idea.”

“Oh, come on. We just passed our eight month anniversary, and I still haven’t heard a single thing about them!”

“Oh, I think you might’ve,” Peter mutters.

“Okay, now you’re just being cryptic.”

“I need you to trust me when I say, meeting them is nothing worth doing.”

“But I _want_ to!” Harley fights, reaching for Peter’s hand. “I want to meet them! I feel like we’ve gotten close enough for that-”

Peter pulls his hand away. “Just drop it.”

Harley frowns, dejected. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“I- what? No, of course not.”

“You don’t think your parents will approve?”

“Harley, that’s not it-”

“Then why can’t I meet them?”

Peter sighs, and Harley can see him blushing even in the low light of evening as his eyes are fixed dutifully down at Harley’s feet. “I’ve been lying to you,” he sighs after a moment. “My last name… it’s not actually Parker.” He looks up at Harley, eyes wide and expression vulnerable. “It’s… Stark.”

Harley shrugs, looking lost. “Okay?” he chuckles, confused. “Peter Stark. A bit funny on the tongue, but I don’t know why you would lie about-” Harley freezes, eyes going wide.

“Stark Industries,” he says, just above a whisper. Peter nods, sucking in a breath. “You… and- and Tony-”

“My father,” Peter confirms with a half smile. Harley’s mouth falls open, and he shakes his head.

“You… you _lied_. Why did you lie?”

Peter feels frozen under Harley’s betrayed expression. He _hates_ knowing he’s the one who put it there, the one it’s directed at.

“I couldn’t have the expectations, the pressure, following me around-”

“Oh, boo, hoo,” Harley groans, turning away, _walking_ away, from Peter.

Peter feels panic rise in his throat at the sight of Harley’s retreating back.

“And I-” Harley stops moving. “I needed to know that… that you actually liked me.”

“Well, of course I do,” Harley mutters from a few feet away, his back to Peter. “You know I do.”

“I couldn’t be sure, at first,” Peter confesses, words getting caught in his throat. “I just needed to know that you liked me… for _me_ , and not my family or- or money.”

For a minute Harley doesn’t move, and Peter feels like he can’t breathe. And then, he looks over his shoulder, just slightly. “Did you really think I would do that? Just… _use_ you?”

Peter’s voice is quiet, barely audible, stolen by the breeze. “It’s happened before.”

Slowly, Harley turns back around. “Direct me to who did that to you and I’ll kick their ass.” Peter smiles, just slightly, and Harley sighs. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

Harley analyzes Peter’s expression for a moment. “No,” he says finally. “I guess I can’t.” He takes a step closer, and Peter’s lungs seem to expand, just a bit. “Is there anything else you’re hiding from me? Are you related to the Osborns, too, somehow?”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. “Hell, no.”

Harley nods once, whispering, “Okay.” _Okay, I believe you. Okay, I forgive you. Okay, I accept you_.

“And, listen, if you have any secrets of _your_ family that you’d like to divulge-”

Harley pulls open the driver’s side door, allowing Peter to slide behind the wheel. “I mean, if you want a discount on car repairs, visit my uncle in the garage around the corner from campus. Mondays to Fridays, nine to five.”

Peter grins just before Harley closes the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harley walks around the car and settles in beside Peter, buckling his seatbelt. Peter grabs Harley’s hand before he can retract it.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he says quietly. Harley just presses a kiss to his forehead.

“If you think my opinion of you would change just because of a _name_ , darling, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Peter grins. “Good. Because I’ve been considering changing my first name to Tristan recently-”

“I revoke my earlier statement.”

They pull away from the Keener household, Peter’s laughter filling the air.


	16. “Does this help?”

It had been building up all day, a sense of irritability growing in Peter that Harley took notice of. He would squeeze his eyes shut - “Are you okay?” Harley would ask, concerned, and Peter would shake his head, more for loss of words than a denial. “Headache” was the response, and Harley would’ve left it at that, if not for the other signs.

Peter’s leg would not stop bouncing, not at the breakfast table, not under his desk, not on the couch as they watched a movie. He continuously adjusted his clothes, pulled them away from his body, ran a hand over the back of his neck and pulled the clothing tag to the outside of his shirt collar. When Harley turned on the light, Peter flinched away from it. Half way through the day, he changed out of his jeans and into a soft pair of sweatpants.

When it culminated during their movie night, Harley was ready.

He was an idiot. He saw the signs, and still, he chose an action film. When a shootout came on and Peter flinched, emitting a small whine as his shoulders rose up to his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, Harley jumped for the remote, pausing the film. A sensory overload, of course - Harley was no stranger to them, he had seen his fair share in his boyfriend.

He hesitated to turn off the t.v.; it emitted a loud noise on the power-down, so he instead opted to leave it on and fill a glass of water from the kitchen. When he returned Peter was curled in on himself in the corner of the couch, muscles tense and breathing heavily. Harley wanted nothing more to reach for Peter, to envelop him in a hug, but that hadn’t worked their first time around, with Peter shoving Harley back in his haste to get away.

Instead Harley kneeled on the ground in front of Peter, gently offering the glass of water. “It’s me, hon,” he whispered. There was no one else in the apartment, but he figured he’d better be sure. “Take a sip of this. It’s just water, alright? It should calm you down.”

Peter reached for the glass, taking it with a trembling hand; Harley was sure to keep his fingers away from Peter’s own. Peter took a sip and gave a shaky nod, eyes closed, and Harley moved to retrieve the glass with his left hand before offering his right.

“Here, take this,” he murmured. Peter peeled his eyes open to guide his fingers to brush over what was in Harley’s hand, and he pulled them back suddenly.

“It’s cold,” he blurted out, and Harley nodded.

“It’s an ice cube,” he said simply. Again, Peter reached for it and took it in his own hand. As Harley wiped his hand on his jeans, he saw the crease between Peter’s eyebrows release, watched his shoulders begin to sag, as he turned the cube over in his hand. After a moment he took a slow breath and peeled open his eyes, not once lessening his grip on the cube.

“Does this help?” Harley asked gently.

Peter found his eyes, nodding as he offered a small smile. “How’d you know?”

Harley shrugged as he pushed himself back onto the couch. “Did some research. You focus on that instead of everything going on around you. It’s jarring, so for a moment your mind is too shocked to freak out.”

Peter smiled, leaning his head back against the couch as he switched the melting ice to his other hand. “Worked like a charm.”

“So you’re good now?”

Peter nodded. “Sorry.”

“Mm-mm,” Harley chastised, reaching one cushion over to grab a blanket and beginning to spread it out over Peter’s lap. “No apologies.”

“But, I mean, it was just noise. I shouldn’t be freaking out over-”

“Who says?” Harley spoke nonchalantly as he grabbed the remote and began looking for a quieter sitcom to relax them. “I’ve got no qualms with any of your oddities. I just want to know how to take care of ‘em, and we’ll be well on our way.”

Peter smiled, leaning against Harley’s side as he pressed play on _The Office_. “Promise?”

“'Course,” Harley answered easily, dropping an arm over Peter’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”


	17. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

As Tony Stark’s ~~kid~~ mentee, Peter expected to be kidnapped, held for ransom, or the like. He was prepared for it - Natasha taught him to fight, Steve taught him to be reasonable and to stay quiet until the Avengers found him, and Tony planted trackers on every item of clothing Peter owned. Once Peter grew up and moved out, he thought he was successful in avoiding the inevitable. He considered it a win. He relaxed.

And then, he got the video.

Normally, an email with the subject line _open now_ wouldn’t catch Peter’s attention; he would figure it was a pushy salesperson or something similar, but a tingling at the back of his neck when his phone pings prompts Peter to open the message.

Part of him wishes he never opened it. The other half is so damn grateful he did.

It contains nothing but a video clip. The thumbnail is blurry and Peter can’t make it out, but something compels him to watch it.

He presses _play_ , and almost drops his phone.

It’s Harley. _It’s Harley._ He’s sitting in a wooden chair and his hands appear to be secured behind him. He’s in a dark room, the lighting making it difficult to identify details, but Peter sees a piece of tape secured over his mouth, bruises forming around his left eye.

Harley’s eyes are open and he’s lounging comfortably in the chair, wearing the same clothes he was when he left the house this morning when he told Peter he’d be spending the evening with an old friend, James. When Peter arrived home and Harley wasn’t there, Peter didn’t think much of it.

He should’ve been paying more attention.

Harley looks comfortable, legs splayed out in front of him like he’s reclining in front of the t.v. in their living room. It makes Peter’s heart twist.

“Well, hello, Peter,” a voice says, and Harley’s gaze grows intense as he glares at something behind the camera. Peter’s stomach churns.

Spider-Man had revealed his identity just two months ago. It seems Peter’s already being made to regret it.

“I’ve got no quarrel with your… your _bedmate_ here,” the voice says.

“My fiance, you son of a bitch,” Peter corrects through gritted teeth.

“If you come on down, you take his place, I’ll let him go. Simple as that.”

Harley tries to say something through his gag, and Peter’s heart jumps into his throat.

“What is it, you little rat?” the voice demands. Harley shrugs his shoulders and juts his chin forward pointedly. There’s a sigh, and a woman enters frame, stepping closer to Harley. Peter watches in anticipation, his phone beginning to crack around the edges.

The woman leans forward, ripping the tape from Harley’s lips, and he winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. For a moment they just stare at each other, before the woman nods toward the camera.

“Well?” she prompts. “Go on. Tell him to come save you.”

Harley just grins, a smile that makes his eyes go dark.

And then, he spits at her feet.

The woman recoils, disgusted, before grabbing Harley’s chin and forcing him to face the camera. Her nails dig into his skin - Peter watches in horror - but Harley forces his eyes to the side, back to her.

“Have you ever considered that I might be enjoying this?” Harley says lightly. “Maybe I’d rather he _not_ come. We could have some fun.”

Peter’s stomach clenches. _Shut up. Shut up. Do what she says, lead me to you-_

The woman strikes Harley, hard, across the face, and his head snaps to the side; Peter watches blood go flying from his mouth. _You son of a bitch_ , Peter thinks, his lip curling in a sneer.

The woman holds her arms open. “Come on down, Parker!” she exclaims. “Pay for your crimes, or, unlike your little partner over here implies, he won’t be having so much fun.”

_That’s my fiance, you-_

“Don’t-” Harley takes a ragged breath, his voice broken, and Peter flinches. A single tear leaks from the corner of his eye as his grip tightens around his phone, jaw clenched. “Don’t come,” Harley rasps out, and for the first time since the video began Harley makes eye contact with the camera. “Please, Peter, don’t-”

“Oh, listen to him,” the woman croons. She grabs a fistful of Harley’s hair and pulls his head back. Harley glares up at her as she traces a finger down his neck. “I’d hate to mess up his lovely face, but….” The woman shrugs, pulling his head back a tad further. Harley lets out a low whine before she releases, and his head falls forward, lolling against his chest. “Civilian casualties. Of course, you know how it is.”

Peter feels like he might puke.

“I’d suggest you hurry, _Spider-Man_ ,” the woman taunts, retrieving something from off-screen. She returns with a roll of duct tape; it echoes eerily in the empty space as she tears off a new piece. “I’d hate for any tragedy to befall your precious little boy toy, here.”

“Pete-” Harley coughs, voice strained. “Don’t-”

The woman smooths a new piece of tape over Harley’s mouth before he can utter another word. He glares up at her, before making eye contact with the camera and shaking his head, eyes wide and begging.

“I’m coming,” Peter whispers. “I’m coming, I promise.”

The woman gives Peter instructions. Harley’s wide eyes are the last thing Peter sees before the video ends.

The location is right here in Queens, which Peter thinks is some twisted kind of taunt. It’s in one of those abandoned warehouses near the train tracks, because _of course_ it is.

Peter busts down the door without hesitation, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

That’s a moment too late.

There’s a force in front of him, shoving him back, and Peter falls, but not before firing a web. There’s a laugh that sets Peter’s blood cold, and then, a gunshot.

Peter’s leg jolts and he lets out a scream. He fights, bringing his arms up and struggling to shove her off of him. Something metal is pressed to his neck. There’s a buzzing noise, a burnt smell, and someone calling Peter’s name before he loses consciousness.

That same voice is there when Peter comes to - he hadn’t been out long, then. He’s seated on the floor somewhere, legs out in front of him and cuffs securing his ankles together, his wrists held behind him with what he guesses to be the same method.

A face becomes clear leaning in front of his, long hair, a soft smile.

Peter shoves himself forward, tries to kick out his legs, anything, but the cuffs around his wrists seem to be fixed to the wall behind him, those around his ankles heavy and weighted to the floor.

“Hm,” the woman purrs. “I expected more.”

A voice whispers Peter’s name and his head turns sharply, eyes flying into motion as he searches for the voice.

There’s Harley, just behind the woman, watching him with wide eyes.

The woman follows Peter’s gaze. “Oh, yeah. Him.” She leans back and begins to pace, circling Harley’s chair. She trails a finger along his shoulders. “Oh, he has such a pretty voice, don’t you think?”

“Get away from him,” Peter growls, fighting against his restraints.

The woman smiles, circling her hand around to the front of Harley’s neck, and tightening her grip. Harley’s breathing grows labored and he begins to choke, eyes growing wide. The woman leans forward, resting her chin just over Harley’s shoulders. “Or what?” she whispers, eyes alight with sadistic glee.

“Stop,” Peter threatens in a low voice. The woman just shakes her head, and the rises and falls of Harley’s chest grow more frantic. His feet tap against the floor. “Stop it! Stop!” Peter begs, the hero reduced to a boy in turmoil, the most important thing in his life being threatened before his eyes.

All at once, the woman lets go, and Peter feels like he can breathe again.

He wasn’t even the one being asphyxiated.

“Harls,” Peter calls. Harley lifts his gaze as he coughs. “Hi,” Peter whispers. Harley just shakes his head.

“You idiot,” he says, voice strained. “Why’d you come?”

Peter shakes his head, eyes growing hard as he looks up to the woman. “Look, I’m here. Isn’t this what you wanted? Let him go.”

Peter doesn’t even know who she is. At this point, he doesn’t care.

Harley’s in danger.

It’s Peter’s job to save him.

The woman holds a hand to her chin. “See, I was going to, but now… ooh, imagine the fun I could have with the both of you….”

“We made a deal,” Peter threatens, voice low.

“Peter,” Harley begs, voice soft. Peter doesn’t look at him.

“Fine,” the woman sighs. She reaches for Harley’s restraints and begins to untie them.

“Peter, don’t-” Harley tries, but Peter shakes his head.

“You get to safety,” he says, smiling. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going to leave you here.”

“Harls-”

The ropes fall away from Harley’s wrists. Before they can even hit the ground Harley knocks his head back and the woman yells, a hand flying to her nose as she stumbles backward. Harley stands, kicking the chair behind him. The woman tries to knock it beside and prepares to fight, but she’s not ready for Harley Keener. It takes three swift punches to knock her down, Harley only having sustained a kick to the shin, but she’s out cold, lying on the damp floor.

Harley rushes to Peter’s side, kneeling in front of him, hands touching every surface of his face.

“Are you okay?” Harley whispers, hands trembling and eyes wide. Peter leans his head forward and Harley meets him in the middle, touching their foreheads together as he takes Peter’s face in his hands.

“Am I okay?” Peter repeats, eyes squeezed tight. “Forget about that. Harley, she hit you.”

“She knocked you flat on your back.”

“She _abducted_ you.”

Harley shrugs. “Okay, fair.”

“You never do that again,” Peter demands. “Telling me not to come… you really think I would’ve listened?”

Harley laughs breathily. “I had to try.”

“I was so worried. You- you _never_ ….” Peter trails off, unable to complete his thought.

“You think this is how Tony felt?”

Peter just shakes his head, delirious. “Hey, you know how to get me out of these things?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, she had a key….” Harley wanders back over to the woman and begins rooting through her pockets. “Let’s call the cops, get you home.”

Peter nods as Harley undoes the cuffs on his ankles. When Harley moves to free Peter’s wrists, Peter leans in close, moving cheek to cheek.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Harley responds, grabbing the cuffs and throwing them to the other end of the dark room, muttering, _Good riddance_.

“That was hot,” Peter finishes, and Harley laughs, helping him stand.

“My boyfriend saves a city of over two million every day. Of course, I learned some moves.” He wraps as arm around Peter’s shoulders and Peter curls his fingers around Harley’s waist. It’s unclear who’s providing the strength, who’s guiding the other home. Maybe they both are.

Peter presses a kiss to Harley’s temple as they step out into the sunlight. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harley smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay, too. Also, I definitely saved your ass.”

Peter laughs. “You definitely did.”


	18. Trust

“Are you sure about this?” Peter asks from where he stands in the centre of the rooftop. He watches as Harley peers over the edge, silhouetted against the stars, before pulling sharply back and clearing his throat.

“Of course,” Harley calls back, voice quivering. “I want to see what’s so special about swinging over the c-city that it keeps my boyfriend from spending time with me.”

Harley has yet to move his eyes from the street below, and Peter sighs, walking forward and turning Harley’s chin away, to face him. “Are you sure that’s the reason?” Harley swallows thickly, but says nothing, so Peter answers for him. “You need to know that I’m safe.”

For a moment Harley doesn’t speak; and then, he lightly shoves Peter away, turning and taking a few steps from the edge. “Of course I need to know that you’re okay,” he admits reluctantly, words quiet and slurred. “Look, this seems really dangerous, and I can’t keep seeing you on the news and freaking out because I don’t know exactly what you’re doing or if you’re safe, so - so the only way for me to truly be comfortable with it is to experience it myself.”

“Harls, you’re terrified of heights.”

Harley swallows thickly. “I know.”

“You can’t just take my word that it’s completely safe?” Harley raises a brow, and Peter bites back a laugh.

“Forgive me for not trusting you’ll tell the truth about matters regarding your own safety.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter sighs. “C’mere.” Harley obeys, keeping his eyes on Peter’s as he walks toward the edge. Peter grabs Harley’s hand once he’s close enough, and Harley squeezes back. “Are you sure?” Peter asks again, voice quiet. Harley tilts his head back and looks up at the stars, blinking quickly.

“Yeah,” he whispers finally, and Peter snakes an arm around Harley’s waist, guiding him to the edge of the roof.

Peter clicks the button on the watch on his wrist and his suit begins to form around him. “If you get scared, look up instead of-” Peter hears a gasp and the sound of Harley tripping over gravel to get away from the edge. “Down,” he finishes, trying not to laugh as he turns and faces Harley through analytical lenses.

“Come on,” Peter says again, holding his arms out. Step one, all Harley has to do is walk over to him.

Harley’s smart; he keeps his eyes on Peter the entire way, even as his footsteps waver and his hands clench into fists.

“I hate you,” Harley mutters as he crosses the rooftop. Peter grins beneath the mask.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I really, really do.”

“You know, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up.”

“Yup.”

Harley reaches Peter, clinging onto him desperately. Once more, Peter inches his hand around Harley’s waist and guides them toward the edge. Harley grasps tightly to Peter’s shoulders, and Peter fears he might black out from the tight grip.

“Hey, Harls?”

Harley’s voice trembles. “Mhm?”

“How many stars are in the sky?”

“I’m not a baby, Parker. I don’t need-”

“Count ‘em.”

Harley takes a deep breath and doesn’t argue, and Peter figures Harley must’ve taken his suggestion. Good, because if Peter’s going to get them out of this without Harley vomiting or fainting or both, he’s going to have to, for the first time since donning the suit, chart his course.

Peter helps Harley up onto the ledge of the roof, and though Harley’s eyes are on the sky, his grip tightens around Peter’s shoulders. Peter knows for a fact Harley is safe in his arms; still, Peter holds tighter to his waist. Precious cargo, and all that.

“You ready?”

“M-Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Shut up and take the leap, Parker.”

And then, Peter gets a thought.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

The colour floods back into Harley’s face as he puts all his effort into giving Peter a confused stare. “What?”

“Like a reverse piggy-back. It’ll make you more secure, come on.”

“I don’t know-”

“Do you trust me?” Peter retracts the mask, and Harley gets to look him straight in his big brown eyes.

“Indubitably.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth twists upward. “Big word.”

Harley grins as he lifts one leg around Peter’s waist, then the other to link his ankles behind Peter’s hips. “Good?” he asks, unsure.

“Honey, I lift cars every damn day. You’re a paperweight.”

Harley grins, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and tucking his face to his boyfriend’s chest. “Alright,” he sighs. “Let’s do this.”

“On the count of three.” Harley nods. “One.” He takes a deep breath. “Two.” His eyes squeeze shut.

Harley doesn’t hear the _three_. The wind steals it away as Peter leaps, and Harley’s stomach drops, seeming to escape his body entirely. Harley’s eyes squeeze shut and for a moment he forgets to breathe.

 _Count the stars_ , Peter speaks in his mind. _If you get scared, look up._

Harley turns his head up. He forces out a breath. The only thing left is to open his eyes-

Peter’s silhouetted face is reflected back at him, and an ease washes over Harley. He feels Peter’s arm around his waist, feels the steady tense of his muscles and the pattern of his breath.

Harley’s stomach swoops as Peter releases the web and fires another- Peter. Peter does it. Peter is in charge. Peter is in control.

There’s no reason to be afraid.

“You okay?” Peter calls, voice almost stolen by the wind. Almost.

Harley looks past Peter to the stars. His heart settles.

He rests his head against Peter’s chest, watching the buildings pass. “Yeah,” he whispers. He knows Peter hears it.

“Want to try looking down?”

 _No._ Harley does it anyway.

He inches his eyes down, and freezes when he reaches the third floor of the nearest building, realizing just how high up they are. They reach the bottom of their swing and begin flying back up, and Harley takes a breath. _One. Two-_

Once more, he casts his eyes down.

The scene is too beautiful to be scary.

Lights shine up at them, a city below that seems so insignificant from up here. There’s a tangle of taxis that Harley can enjoy because he’s not in one, streetlamps that flicker, but they don’t hinder Harley’s sight. He takes a full, deep breath. The air smells… well, maybe not _cleaner_ up here, but less congested.

Not cleaner. Clearer.

“Having fun?” Peter says in Harley’s ear just before the rise. Harley waits for his stomach to settle before he answers; it never does. He supposes a nod will do; his voice will return later.

Harley looks to the lights above, then to the ones below. So much luminescence, but to them, it’s dark. It’s silent, almost empty.

It’s safe.

Harley lets his eyes fall closed.

When the wind stops and Harley finds he can breathe again, when his hair settles high above his head, when he feels Peter’s second arm settle against his back, Harley peels his eyes open to find they’re on the ledge of a rooftop. Below him the city rests; around him it rises, and above, stars await. But right here is his angel, clad in red with his arms around Harley’s waist, and Harley couldn’t be happier.

Harley eases two fingers beneath the mask and pulls it up, just to Peter’s nose. He cups Peter’s face in his hands and kisses him then and there, his poor heart never having the chance to settle, his eyes squeezed shut with safety and his body pushing forward with passion. Peter supports him easily, his hands under Harley’s thighs as Harley rests on his hips, and Harley feels Peter grin against his lips. Only when they pull away, foreheads resting together as they breathe in tandem, does Peter speak.

“That good, huh?” he gasps, and Harley hears the smile behind his words without the need to open his eyes. “Is this sufficient proof of my safety?”

Harley laughs before the sound is quieted by his lips pressing against Peter’s once more, exhilaration taking over his senses. “Thank you,” he whispers as he drops his lips to Peter’s jaw, then down to his neck. Peter laughs breathlessly, turning his head away, giving Harley access.

“You know… we’re still on a roof,” Peter pants, and Harley laughs, tucking his head against the base of Peter’s neck.

“You’ll protect me.”

“Always.” Peter presses a kiss to Harley’s hair before adjusting his position. “Ready to go again?”

Harley’s laughs ringing through the night air are answer enough.

“Three, two….”

Peter takes a leap.


	19. Harley moves away

Peter sits on the couch in the living room, his feet up on the cushions and knees tucked to his chest. His eyes stare unseeing at the blank t.v. screen ahead of him. His backpack lays discarded on the floor before him, dropped there when he had returned from school a quarter of an hour ago. He had planned to do his homework first thing upon arriving home, but after what he had heard fifth period….

He hears the elevator ding, an arrival on his floor. It’s Tony; it could be no one else. Peter and Tony are the only two people with access to their personal floor of the tower. Well, there had been a third.

But that person is gone now.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony calls from somewhere near the dining room. Peter hears him step through the penthouse, throw his bags down. Peter blinks. He does not respond. “Look, I don’t feel like scraping burnt food off a pan tonight, so why don’t we just order a pizza and-”

Tony appears around the corner and freezes, his eyes finding Peter on the couch. Peter turns his head, just slightly, just enough to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, brow furrowed as he hurries to take a seat beside Peter. Peter’s throat is so choked up, it hurts, and he feels like he has no tears left to cry after today. They find their way onto his cheeks anyway.

“Hey, hey,” Tony soothes quietly, placing a hand on Peter’s upper back. It helps clear his chest, a little. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His feet slide down to the floor. He can’t say it out loud. If he says it out loud, it’ll become real, and Peter doesn’t know if he can  _ handle  _ it being real. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to survive it.

Tony leans in closer, holding Peter’s head to his chest. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Talk to me, baby.”

Peter shakes his head, burying his face in Tony’s expensive tie. “Harley left,” Peter blurts out all at once, accompanied by a sob ripping through his chest. “He’s gone.”

Tony’s arms tense before he remembers to keep them moving, continuing to rub circles up near Peter’s neck. “What?” he whispers. “Why… what do you mean?” Peter sobs in place of an answer, and Tony simply holds him closer, rocking them slightly back and forth on the couch. Peter cries and cries, but his chest only grows more tight, the pain in his throat growing, the mess in his head intensifying. Shouldn’t it be the opposite?

After a couple of moments Peter shakes his head, pulling away and scrubbing a hand over his cheeks. “You remember how…”  _ Hiccup.  _ “-how he wasn’t returning my texts all weekend?” Peter keeps his eyes focused on the floor between his feet, looking from the corner of his eye to see Tony nod. “I thought he was just… just mad at me, or something, but then I got to school and he wasn’t there and….”

Peter’s shoulders collapse inward as he tugs his hands around his body, compressing himself into as tight of a space as possible, imagining that he’s hugging Harley, that Harley’s still here with him.

But Harley’s gone.

And he’s not coming back.

“I only…  _ had,  _ period five math with him, so I went all day and I thought maybe I didn’t see him because he was just busy or… I don’t know, but then Ms. Yang, she….”

Peter turns his head, meeting Tony’s eyes. He sees Tony’s expression fall at the look on his face.

“She told us that he moved away,” Peter whispers, face crumpling as tears rush to the surface once more.

“Oh, bud,” Tony sighs, reaching forward to comfort Peter. In his hunched-over position, all Tony can do is guide Peter’s head to his legs and brush back the hair, stroke away the tears. They continue to fall, despite Tony’s efforts.

“He didn’t even tell me,” Peter sobs. “He didn’t want me to know.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Tony says softly. “Maybe he just didn’t want to make it difficult.”

Peter shakes his head angrily, turning his head up to meet Tony’s eyes. “I never got to say goodbye.” Peter can’t hold his anger for long before he lapses into tears once more. Tony opens his mouth to comfort his son, but he has nothing to say. “I can’t- I-” Peter’s words are jumbled, voice thick and cracking. “Why? Why wouldn’t he tell me? He just… he just  _ left,  _ and I….”

Peter tucks his knees up to his chest, almost laying in a ball on Tony’s lap. “It was my fault. He left because of me… he  _ hates  _ me.”

“No, baby, no,” Tony says quickly, brushing Peter’s hair back. “This is  _ not  _ your fault, okay? This had nothing to do with you, I’m sure of it. Harley loves you.”

“Loved,” Peter mutters, a ghost of a word. Tony says nothing; he doesn’t know  _ what  _ to say. “Do you think….” Peter stops speaking before he can finish, swallowing thickly. When he speaks again, his words are barely audible, voice just above a whisper. Tony has to lean down to hear.

“Do you think he loves me as much I love him?” Peter blinks at the far wall of the room. “Do you think this is hurting him, too?”

Tony leans down, pressing his lips to Peter’s cheek. “Of course it is,” he whispers. “You two… you grew very close, and you confided so much in each other, and you… you depended on each other, and you relied on each other, and you gave so much to that relationship.” Tony leans forward, ignoring his aching back, and wraps his arms tight around Peter’s shoulders. “If you love as strongly as I know you do… you’re going to get hurt, but isn’t it worth it?”

Peter shakes his head, taking a long, shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

Tony nods, planting his forehead on Peter’s shoulder. “I know it hurts. This… it really sucks, it does, and I’m so sorry, baby.” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, and silent tears begin to fall. “But I don’t want you to ever stop loving, okay? You can take a break and give your heart time to rest. Let’s stay home tomorrow. You don’t go to school and I won’t do any work, and we’ll sit on this very couch, eating ice cream and watching Wipeout.” Peter gives a wet laugh. “But whatever you do, I don’t want you to  _ ever  _ stop feeling as much as you do right now, because this is a gift. And maybe one day, Harley will get over… whatever he’s going through, and he’ll contact you again, right?”

Peter blinks. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony whispers, pulling a strand of hair from Peter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter simply nods and lets Tony hold him. He says nothing more.


	20. Ace Week 2020

Peter didn’t think much of it; he was only 17. No one had those thoughts at 17, those desires, those…  _ urges _ to be physically intimate. Those are things that arise later in life. So what if that couple in his history class skipped class once a week, and the students all knew what they were doing? They’re just one couple. No, Peter’s normal. He’s with the rest of them. Sex isn’t a big thing, anyway. Just… if it happens, cool, but Peter doesn’t have any desire to go looking for it. No one does, really.

But, Ned starts to talk. He points out guys on the street, and he keeps a photo of some celebrity singer hidden between the textbooks in his locker. On numerous occasions Peter has caught his class playing  _ F*ck, Marry, Kill _ , and Peter has no idea what makes a person, quote-unquote,  _ f*ckable. _ (Plus, he doesn’t want to kill anybody, so he sits those games out.) His Instagram feed is seeing more and more photos of couples making out, sometimes with a different person every couple of weeks, and Peter wonders why they do that, why they change partners so quickly and get to such an important stage with them so fast - did they get bored of their last one? How could you do that to a person?

Peter’s confused, so, like any respectable adult, he turns to Yahoo! Answers.

**_Asexual._ ** _ A lack of sexual attraction to others. _

Oh, so  _ that’s  _ what this is.

The first thing Peter feels is relief. He’s not alone, out there in the large world - there are people that feel the same as him. He’s not crazy for thinking this; he’s not wrong or weird or broken, at least, not in the grand scheme of things.

But walking around the hallways at school, he feels like a liar, like an imposter in his skin.

He feels like they all know, all his classmates, even though he  _ knows  _ that’s impossible. He feels like they’re watching him, like they think he’s weird, and he’s ready to defend himself in the slightest chance that someone confronts him, but really, he just wants to curl up and cry.

Why does he feel so… so  _ lost,  _ when he’s never felt so found? Why does he feel like he’s cheating in life when there’s no end goal?

And so, he hides it.

Ned asks Peter for his opinion on celebrities, and Peter goes for what he’s found to sell in, for lack of a better word, his research. He points out the men’s blue eyes and sharp jawlines and the women’s small noses and round eyes. To Peter, they’re just facial features, and it makes him uncomfortable to judge ones’ merit based on their outward appearance; but Ned nods along, and he guesses he’s doing something right.

Peter keeps up the facade, past senior year and part way into college, year one. Ned’s moved away to a university across the state, and Peter misses him like hell; but a small, twisted part of him is glad Ned’s away and unable to ask more questions. Peter knows - he  _ hopes  _ \- Ned would accept him, but at this point it’s simply too much of a risk. Peter can’t have anyone knowing, so he bars all relationships (not that anyone was really catching his eye, anyway). He doesn’t want to fall for someone, and then have them leave once they realize….

No.

No relationships.

And then, this asshole bumps into him on their way into biology.

His name is Harley, the kid introduces with a sigh as he scrambles to pick up his books, and he’s coming back from guidance, whom he  _ begged  _ to swap him out of this class because he, quote, “can’t. Fucking.  _ Do it, _ ” unquote, but his counsellor assured him he needs this course to graduate.

Harley straightens, face flushed as he blows a stray piece of hair from his face.

“Nice to meet you,” Harley sighs after his speech, plastering on a thin-lipped smile, and Peter offers one in return.

“I’m Peter.”

“I would shake your hand, but….” Harley shrugs his shoulders, and the pile of books in his hands threatens to fall. Peter slides the top two from the pile, and nods his head toward the entrance to the classroom, letting Harley lead the way.

“I could help,” Peter says without thinking.

Harley gives him a funny look as he settles in his chair, offering Peter the one to his left. Peter accepts it; it’s on the opposite side of the room which he’s used to sitting, but it’s not like he sits there for anyone, anyway.

“Help with what?”

“Biology,” Peter answers simply. “It’s my favourite subject.”

“How?” Harley sighs, and Peter grins. “That’s mighty kind of you, but I can’t ask you to do that. Really, it’s more work than you know you’re signing up for. I’ll just look for a tutor.”

Peter quiets his voice as their teacher steps into the room, preparing notes at her front desk. “No way. They charge too much. Plus, I probably know more than them, anyway.”

“Quiet, please,” Ms. Morris calls, and Harley leans closer, keeping his eyes on the front of the room.

“Oh, you do, do know?” Peter likes the sound of Harley’s voice. “I might just take you up on that.”

Peter grins. “Please do.”

“Boys.” Peter sits up straighter, meeting Ms. Morris’ eyes. She raises a brow.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles, face flushing red in embarrassment.

“My bad, Miss,” Harley calls, slouching back in his chair and raising his hand, before holding it to his chest in sincerity. Peter just grins at this boy beside him.

Anyway, that was seven months ago.

_ No relationships, _ my ass.

Peter sits on the couch beside his boyfriend, Harley’s arm around his shoulders and Peter practically sitting in Harley’s lap. They’re watching some kind of cheesy comedy film that Ned’s enbyfriend had introduced to them, and Harley’s mocking every second line with Peter giggling along. Really, Peter couldn’t be happier.

And then, Harley’s hand begins to drift toward Peter’s thigh.

Peter reaches for Harley’s hand and encompasses it in his own, offering Harley a tense smile and hoping his boyfriend realizes nothing is wrong. Harley just pulls Peter closer.

The movie has entered its final scene when Harley presses his lips to Peter’s neck.

Normally, Peter loves physical affection, but now that he knows where it’s leading, it feels wrong. It feels dirty.

It feels unsafe.

But Peter can’t say  _ no, _ right? He really likes Harley, a  _ lot, _ and if he says no then… then maybe Harley will leave him. But now Harley’s growing more intense, and he’s pulling Peter closer, and Peter’s stomach is churning and his head is pounding and he feels he might be sick, and Harley reaches a hand for Peter’s thigh-

Peter shoves Harley away, scrambling to the opposite side of the couch.

Harley’s eyes are blown wide, his cheeks red. “Peter?” he asks, hands held suspended, debating whether to bridge the gap between them. “Are you alright?”

Peter’s throat is choked up, breathing restricted as his hands tremble in his lap. He says nothing; he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say it.

Harley attempts to move forward, and Peter throws himself back.

Harley lifts his hands up. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve asked first, I...” And he looks so hurt, so  _ authentic, _ that Peter hates himself for doing this to his boyfriend. He hates that he’s hurting Harley in this way, that his… his  _ defect _ will keep Harley from being happy, to keep them from being together.

The thoughts, the emotions, grow so great that he can’t speak, and Peter drops his head into his hands, fighting back a sob. How could he do this to Harley? How could he- He said no relationships, he promised himself, for this very reason! And now he’s hurt Harley, and now… now, Harley will never forgive him.

“Peter?” Harley says. Peter can’t look up; he can’t respond. Because now he’s crying, like a  _ child. _ What would Harley think if he saw him? “Can I come over there?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, and Harley slides closer, halving the space between them, though still not touching.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I-I can’t-” Peter shakes his head.

Harley inches forward, concern etched in his brow. “Can I hold you?” he asks softly. Peter is leaning into Harley’s arms in lieu of a response, and Harley catches him, holding Peter to his chest and stroking a hand over his hair.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harley whispers as Peter clings to his sweatshirt. Peter just shakes his head, and Harley waits, letting Peter lean against him.

After a couple of moments, the movie credits on the screen being reduced to white words silently flying by on a black background, Peter lets out a slow exhale.

“I-I don’t… want….” He turns and buries his head in Harley’s neck, as if to hide from the reality of it all. “ _ that. _ ”

“Oh,” Harley says quietly. “Oh, that’s okay. We don’t have to do it right now. We can wait-”

“I don’t want to wait.” Harley holds Peter, hugging him close as he waits for his boyfriend to speak. “I don’t… I don’t want that at all.”

Harley smiles, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Okay.” He moves to stand from the couch.

Peter’s heart jumps into his throat and he reaches out, grabbing Harley’s hand. “Where are you going?” he asks frantically, the sight of Harley’s retreating back scaring him more than anything he’s seen in the last seven months.

Harley tilts his head toward the t.v., a slanted grin on his face like it’s obvious. “‘M gonna change the movie.”

“You’re not leaving?”

Harley strokes his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Why would I leave?”

Harley steps away from the couch and Peter’s hand falls limp, his head spinning.

“They call it asexual,” Peter blurts out, and Harley half-turns toward him, offering a smile. “It’s a lack of physical attraction or sexual desire, how-however you want to say it.”

Harley nods in acknowledgement. “Thank you for telling me.”

He turns back to the t.v.

Peter stares, gaping, at his back as the credits come to a close and Harley flips through the disks.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

Harley smiles softly. “I’d never hate you.”

“But I didn’t tell you sooner. I lied, and now you’ll have to find someone else, and-”

“Don’t say that,” Harley interrupts, voice low.

“But I- I’ll never- and you might, so-”

“So we don’t have sex.” Harley shrugs as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “So what?”

Peter meets his eyes, his brow furrowed and expression shaken. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Harley stands, the movies forgotten at his feet as he leans against the television stand. He fixes Peter with an odd stare. “And how did you expect it to go?”

“Yelling,” Peter says, eyes fixed on where his hands lay in his lap. “Anger. Probably a- a breakup.”

Peter keeps his eyes down as he hears Harley sigh, and then the couch cushion dips to his left.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Harley says. Peter nods, and Harley puts an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmurs, and Peter feels the back of his eyes heat up. “I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I would… I’m sorry that I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to believe that.”

Peter shakes his head, leaning against Harley’s side. “You’re really not going anywhere?”

“Never.”

“But I don’t want… and I’ll  _ never  _ want… not even-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harley interrupts, dropping his head to look Peter in the eye, a faint smile on his lips. “I really do like you, I promise. This isn’t something that can just… go away. You’re stuck with me, alright?”

Peter turns, burying his head in Harley’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, surprised to find the fabric under his cheek growing damp.

Harley presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “You don’t have to thank me for something I’m happy doing.”


	21. Kissing

Peter knew this was coming. He had felt it, all night - something in the air, the way he went weak in the knees when Harley’s hand brushed against his. Something about this, their fifth date, was different from the previous four. Something was new. Something was  _ electric. _

They had gone out for dinner - Peter chose fettuccine and Harley had ordered filet mignon - and they had walked, hand-in-hand, beneath the gently-falling snow back to Harley’s apartment, Peter giggling as he leaned against his boyfriend’s side. With the white flakes blowing across his vision and the snow crunching beneath his runners (he really should’ve prepared better), Peter clutched tight to Harley’s arm, and he thought about how he’d never been this happy in his life.

Peter had collapsed onto Harley’s couch the minute they’d returned, Harley’s too-thin sweatshirt wrapped tightly around him as he tucked his knees to his chest and Harley picked the movie. Peter grinned as he watched Harley rummage around in the drawers. Nothing could make him happier than this man. Nothing could be better than  _ this night. _

Harley had chosen one of the Harry Potter movies to put in - an ode to just how much he cared for Peter. Peter loved the films, but he knew Harley could never get into them. Still, Harley kept a set at his place, and Peter couldn’t love him more for it.

Harley sat against the couch cushions and Peter leaned back on his chest. With Harley’s arms wrapped securely around him and Harley’s heartbeat beside his ear, Peter couldn’t help but smile.

This night was different, and they both felt it.

Harley shifted, just slightly, turning Peter to face him. He placed one hand on Peter’s neck and the other on Peter’s shoulder, and slowly, he brought Peter’s lips down to his.

Peter’s first instinct was to recoil, but he couldn’t; everyone liked kissing. It was a big thing in all the movies and in the hallways at school. Maybe… maybe he’s doing it wrong. Oh, goodness, that’s awkward. That’s uncomfortable. Oh, no.

Peter placed a hand on Harley’s chest and pushed him away slightly, dropping his forehead to rest on Harley’s shoulder. “That was my first….” he muttered.  _ My first kiss.  _ “And I can’t… I don’t know how to….” Peter shook his head, growing frustrated.

Harley placed a hand on Peter’s cheek, gently lifting his head. “Hey, that’s alright,” he whispered, ducking his head to meet Peter’s eyes. “That’s okay. Do you want me to help you?” Peter nodded, his cheeks a bright red. “Look, just… lean in.”

Peter placed his hands on Harley’s chest. He closed his eyes, and Harley brought their heads closer.

Harley felt…  _ something, _ clearly, with the way he moved in and held Peter tighter, but Peter  _ didn’t.  _ This was… well,  _ uncomfortable, _ really.

And awkward.

And wet.

Harley pulled away, touching his forehead to Peter’s. He grinned, a crooked twist of the lips. Peter lay his head on Harley’s chest.

“I don’t think I like kissing,” Peter muttered, trying to focus back on the movie. Harley brushed Peter’s hair from his eyes.

“Okay,” Harley whispered, and they remained silent for the rest of the film.

And though Peter didn’t enjoy the kiss, he couldn’t help but smile.

Sure, maybe kissing wasn’t his love language, but it was  _ Harley’s _ . Harley loved Peter. He  _ chose _ Peter to share that with.

And even if Peter didn’t necessarily enjoy it, and they probably won’t do it again, he’s glad Harley chose him.


	22. (another) first meeting

"Mr. Stark?" Peter calls, stepping nervously into the penthouse as he clutches onto his backpack straps. A year of being told by Tony that "mi casa es su casa", and he's still anxious to get comfortable, to take advantage. Tony is providing him with a great opportunity, after all; Peter would hate to overstep.

Peter hears footsteps, but it's not Tony that comes around the corner, no - it's a boy, approximately Peter's own age, with dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes. He stops a couple of steps away and looks Peter up and down; Peter shrinks into himself as the boy cocks a brow.

He sticks his arm out. "Harley Keener, and you are?"

Slowly, Peter accepts it. "Peter Parker. Um, is Tony-"

"Where'd you go, you little gremlin?" Tony shouts at that exact moment in a voice so loud and honestly silly that Peter has difficulty believing that's even his mentor, but then Tony rounds the corner, eyes blazing and hair tousled and appearance so wild that Peter takes a step back.

"You best get back down there and put that fire out," Tony demands, pointing behind him in the general direction of the lab. Harley shrugs his shoulders.

"Why don't you?"

"Because you ran away with the damn fire extinguisher!" Tony shouts, and at that moment Peter notices the large orange canister Harley has tucked behind his back.

Peter's eyes widen as he gains a grasp on the situation, but Harley just chuckles as he slides past Tony toward the lab, extinguisher in hand. He turns to Peter, throwing a casual salute over his shoulder before rounding the corner, out of sight.

"Cya, Peter Parker."

Peter's eyes remain on the spot he had stood long after he's left.

Tony heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I thought you were bad," he mutters under his breath before tilting his head back to blink up at the ceiling. Peter stares at his own shuffling feet, giving Tony a modicum of privacy as he huffs about "When did I become a father?" and muttering about how he should've just gotten a dog.

Peter had moved on to investigating his shoelaces when Tony finally looks up at him. "So," he sighs with a grin that's both ecstatic and exhausted. "How've you been?"

"Um, fine. I'm good."

"Good." Tony nods, running a hand through his hair as he looks back in the direction in which Harley had just disappeared. "I wonder if I should pull the fire alarm... get ahead of this thing," Tony mutters absentmindedly.

"Who is he?"

"The most annoying little twerp in all of Tennessee. And, apparently, my problem child." Tony turns back to Peter with a grin. "But he mainly goes by Harley."

"How did you meet?" Peter asks, trying to sound nonchalant. They way in which Tony regards Harley, the way he talks, the jokes he makes... he never speaks that way with Peter. No matter how relaxed he appears, he's still reserved, respectable, and maybe that's Peter's fault. Maybe he needs to relax in order for Tony to feel comfortable doing so, but... well, Peter really doesn't want to try anything stupid.

"Oh, he just caught me in the midst of a mental health crisis a couple years ago. Helped me stop some fire-breathing, psychopath scientist hybrids. You know, the usual." He grins cheekily at Peter. Peter smiles back. "Alright, come on down."

//

By the time Peter makes it to the lab, the fire appears to be out, but those papers on the desk are definitely charred.

Tony explains to Peter what he and Harley had been working on and invites Peter into their project, but Peter shakes his head, assuring Tony that he'd rather work on "the suit". Tony waves Peter off.

"Harls knows," he says simply. Harley nods appreciatively at Peter, but all Peter can think of is Harls. Harls. Harls.

Peter's been working on his suit for ten minutes, but his hands are shaking and his brain can't focus. Equations aren't adding up and he can't connect these wires for the life of him. He feels eyes on him and looks up for just a moment, but that's long enough for his hand to slip and for him to cut his palm on a shard lying on the table.

"Fuck," he curses as he drops his tools, cradling his right hand in his left and inspecting the wound.

"You alright?" Tony calls from across the room.

Peter looks closer at his palm, sighing with disappointment in himself, in letting himself get distracted. "Yeah, I just-"

"I've got it."

Peter looks up and finds blue eyes watching him from across the table. Harley smiles softly, tilting his head out of the lab as he pushes himself off the desk he had previously been leaning on. "C'mon, let's go rinse it out."

Wordlessly, Peter follows him.

Harley guides Peter to the bathroom, then turns on the tap and steps aside so Peter can rinse out his cut. Peter feels Harley's eyes on him the entire way through, and it unnerves him. Is he doing something wrong? Does Harley feel challenged by him? That's probably it.

"Not like that," Harley sighs, taking Peter's hand and angling it beneath the stream. Peter's shocked into silence as his eyes find Harley's face, Harley, concentrating hard with his tongue between his teeth as he swipes his thumb along Peter's palm once, twice, clearing it of any damaging pieces.

"You're staring," Harley mutters without lifting his eyes from his task.

"Well, I- uh-"

"You're wondering where I stand with Tony."

Peter nods, gnawing on his lower lip.

"We met when I was 10. We stayed in contact as time passed. This is our first time meeting in seven years, and that's really it. He's like the father I never had," Harley notes simply, turning off the tap and handing Peter a towel, and with it, a smile. "Alright, you should be good. From what I know about you, you shouldn't need a bandaid."

Peter takes the towel with uncertain hands. "Thanks," he mutters. This is definitely the weirdest thing to happen to him in a while.

"Now you," Harley says, pushing himself up to sit on the counter. He towers over Peter and Peter leans back against the doorway, trying to give himself room to breathe. With Harley watching him so intensely, the few inches barely help.

"Mr. Stark saw me... doing my thing, you know," Peter chuckles awkwardly. Aside from Tony, he's never spoken to anyone this openly about himself before. "He wanted to help, I guess. He built me the suit- you know, the one you saw in the lab."

Harley nods. "It's sick."

"Well, it wasn't all Mr. Stark, y'know. I mean, I do a lot of the upgrades."

Harley raises a brow, and Peter's mortified. Why does he feel the need to prove himself to Harley?

And when Harley chuckles at his obvious embarrassment, why does Peter feel like his heart skips a beat?

"C'mon." Harley hops off the counter. "Let's head back down." He pats Peter on the shoulder as he passes.

Peter's not sure what he says next, but he's certain none of the words are coherent.


End file.
